


Inked

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dimension Travel, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Past Drug Use, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 05:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 103,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18276332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Draco Malfoy wakes up in a world where everyone has a soulmate ... Everyone except him and, somehow, Hermione Granger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lost Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282594) by [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret). 



> I do not have a beta reader for this story. This is inspired by the fic, "Lost Together." I highly encourage you to read it as it is a unique take on the soulmate trope. I took that idea and applied it to Dramione for this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All trigger warnings for a chapter will be posted in the chapter notes. If that is something you need, please read the notes before reading each chapter. Every chapter will include coarse language. Trigger warnings for this story include:  
> *Drug use.  
> *References to prior drug use.  
> *References to prostitution.  
> *Discussion of terminal illness.  
> *Coarse language.  
> *Traumatic injury.  
> *Bom Chicka Wow Wow
> 
> This chapter takes place on June 6th, 2006.

He must be dreaming.

Draco Malfoy had woken up every day of the past ten years with the Dark Mark branded on his left forearm. It was painful to look at; a reminder of everything he had done and the person he no longer wanted to be.

It was also gone.

Draco’s friends had plied him with Firewhisky the night before to celebrate his twenty-sixth birthday. He took more shots than he could count on one hand, but there was no alcohol in the world strong enough to make Draco forget losing the Mark. He thought back to the previous evening and the first thing he remembered was a cake in the shape of a Snitch. Pansy did far too many shots and Theo took her home. Blaise made a joke about house-elves and goblins that Draco couldn’t remember, but was fairly certain he laughed at. There was nothing about the Mark.

Draco rubbed the pads of his fingers across skin he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. It was smooth, no longer binding him to a long-dead master. Draco grabbed his wand off the nightstand and muttered, “ _Revelio_.” Nothing. He tried every counter-curse he knew, but his arm remained blank. He closed his eyes and counted backward from ten. Nothing. He pinched his right arm then whacked himself in the face with a pillow. All of it felt very real. In a last-ditch attempt to prove he was dreaming, Draco launched himself out of his bedroom window …

And landed with a loud thud in the bushes one floor below.

Draco did not wake up. He was not dreaming and the Mark was gone. Any magic powerful enough to remove a blood bond, let alone one that powerful, was something to be feared. Draco groaned and sank further into the bushes, wondering what fresh hell the day would bring. But other than a bruised ass and curiously normal arm, Draco was completely fine. There were plenty of people who wanted to curse him, but why only take this small part of Draco that he didn’t even want? Draco ruminated on those questions until he heard footsteps.

“Son, I know you are not excited by the thought of this morning’s meeting at the Ministry, but this is a touch dramatic even by your standards.”

After twenty-six years of life with Lucius Malfoy, Draco loved his father in some ways and hated him in many others. Draco looked at his father and saw himself; the same white-blond hair and grey eyes of every Malfoy dating back seven centuries. The similarities ended there, as Draco saw none of his own pain and regret reflected in his father’s face. Draco’s father offered his left arm and Draco stared at it. On his forearm where the Dark Mark should have been, **Narcissa** was written in black ink that shone purple where the light bounced off the edges.

“Your Mark is gone,” Draco observed.

His father glanced down and said, “Of course it is gone, it has been gone. Just because you chose to hide your soulmate’s name from the world does not mean we should all be so ashamed. Now, you need to get ready.”

Draco allowed himself to be helped out of the bushes. He brushed off some leaves and sped inside before his father could say another word. He knew his father still had the Mark the night before. Lucius Malfoy was the sort to reach for a book and “accidentally” allow his sleeve to pool in the crook of his elbow. While it was no longer polite to bare the Mark outside of Azkaban, Draco’s father still took pride in it.

“I fought for the world I want to live in,” he would say.

Draco was doing the same; fighting against a world trying to punish his friends for crimes their parents committed. Crimes their parents were not ashamed of, leaving their children to carry that burden—present company included.

Draco slowly trudged to the dining room, thinking of how much he once enjoyed June. The clouds parted to allow just the right amount of sunlight for Quidditch. The warm air was a light blanket against his skin, not heavy like it was in July or August. After the war, however, June became just like any other month of the year: something the rest of the Wizarding world did not believe he deserved to experience.

Draco saw his mother at the table and said good morning. She looked up from her copy of _Spella Weekly_  and he could not shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. At least, things felt different from when he had fallen asleep the night before.

His mother asked, “Draco, darling, why did you toss yourself into the garden this morning?”

“Bad dream,” Draco answered. It was mostly true. He grabbed a glass of orange juice from the table.

“Are they getting worse?”

“No, this one was ...” He paused as the light pulled his focus to his mother’s left forearm. Three thin black letters peeked out from the edge of her sleeve: **ius**. “Different. This dream is different.” Draco took a long swig from his glass.

“Well if you revealed your soulmate, perhaps—”

“What is this soulmate rubbish?!” Draco shouted.

His mother frowned.

“Are you feeling well? Did you hit your head on the way out the window?”

“God, I go out for one evening and you and father start making stupid decisions like it’s 1979 again.”

“I think you need to lie down,” Draco’s mother insisted, concerned.

Draco rolled his eyes and made for the door.

“I am going to work. Merlin knows I need to get out of this bloody house!”

**.oOo.**

Draco Flooed to the Ministry since he would rather throw himself out of another window than step into a public toilet. Everything inside was blessedly normal. He received all the usual glares and a middle finger or two. They were all secretly terrified of him. On top of bearing the Dark Mark, Draco put Seamus Finnegan in St. Mungo’s for a month in 2002. He made the mistake of calling Draco a “ferret” to his face and hexing him had felt, oh, so good.

Draco stepped into the lift and saw someone had already pressed two. The old codger next to him reached over to press the five and his sleeve fell down to reveal letters in the same purple-tinted black ink Draco had seen on his parents’ arms. His heart began to beat in double-time as he caught glimpses of letters on every left forearm he could see. If this was not a dream, something had gone wrong.

Draco took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The names on everyone’s arms obviously had something to do with the soulmate nonsense his parents had spouted that morning, but that problem could be dealt with later. He moved to the side of the lift, closed his eyes, and listened to each of the six dings as the lift made its way up to the second level. This meeting would be the first of many and he needed it to go well. The doors opened and he nearly jumped out of the lift. Down the hall, second door on the left. He opened it to reveal all nine members of the Wizengamot Legislative Committee.

“You’re late,” Finch-Fletchley said.

“Try not to sneer, Justin, that is my thing,” Draco quipped. “I am not late, you said 10:30.”

“We changed it to 10:15,” MacMillan chimed in.

“When was that decision made?” Draco asked.

“9:45.”

Draco shrugged and sat at the only available chair, furthest from the door. No doubt by design.

“No matter, we can skip the introduction—”

“Malfoy, here, is a representative of CODE,” Finch-Fletchley interrupted. He coated his words with as much vitriol as he could muster. “They are here to discuss WB8725.”

If they were going to be dickish from the off, Draco could work with that. He straightened in his chair and put on his “Lucius face.” Pansy often said it was so good he could frighten off his own father. The dumbass duo backed down immediately.

“Not a representative, Justin, you bloody twit.” Draco glared at Ernie then returned his attention to Finch-Fletchley. “I am Founder and Chief Executive Officer of the Children of Death Eaters alliance, otherwise known as CODE. I am here to talk about Wizengamot Bill 8725, otherwise known as the Marriage Ban. Keep trying to reduce me and my friends to a jumble of letters and numbers, Justin, and you will come to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me?” Justin challenged.

“This bill threatens me!” Draco countered. “And my friends!”

“Can we start from the beginning, perhaps?” Rowan Khanna asked. Draco scrutinized him. Studious, half-blood, already had copious notes spread out in front of him. Logical. He just might flip. 

Ernie said, “WB8725, otherwise known as the Matrimony Reclassification Act—”

“Marriage ban,” Draco interjected.

“—has been proposed by some—”

“Anonymous assholes.”

“—to not recognize marriages involving Death Eaters or their children.”

Angelica Cole asked, “Sorry, are we truly entertaining this proposal? I thought this died last year.”

The conversation devolved from there into the bill’s specifications. Draco’s brain threatened to bleed out his ears every time Percy Weasley opened his mouth. He surveyed everyone’s reactions, trying to figure out which would be easiest to flip. Of the nine committee members he needed to flip five to no, and Angelica Cole was already there. Four to go with Khanna in the likely column.

Justin and Ernie were solid yes votes, championing it just to spite Draco. Penny Haywood appeared to lean no while Percy Weasley was leaning yes. Chiara Lobosca was completely silent. One of the two oldest members, Draco was not quite sure what to make of her. Gabriel Truman, Badeea Ali each seemed to have no preconceived opinions. He only needed to flip three of the five holdouts.

“Right, listen,” Draco said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Obviously we have four more of these meetings scheduled. Today is only meant to be a discussion, but I would like to request an olive branch.”

“We don’t—”

“Stuff it, Weasley, the adults are talking.”

“I was going to say we don’t usually do that, but due to the sensitivity of the legislation we should consider it,” Percy amended. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Prick.”

Draco shrugged off his robe, revealing the green Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt underneath. It pooled in the back of his chair as he leaned forward.

“I want you to guarantee that no matter the outcome, you will not dissolve any marriages already recognized by the Ministry.”

“Why?” Ernie asked.

“Because you cannot grant a right then take it away! None of us have committed a crime!” Draco insisted.

“Except for aiding and abetting You-Know-Who in attempting to take over the entire Wizarding world! And God only knows what after that,” Justin quipped.

“I did that alone,” Draco insisted. He pointed to Justin and said, “Do not make my friends suffer for the terrible shit I did. I represent more than a thousand—”

Percy Weasley fell backward out of his chair and hugged the wall. He pointed a shaky finger at Draco’s arm and said,

“He doesn’t have a name!”

All eight other pairs of eyes simultaneously glanced down at Draco’s conspicuously blank forearm. There was about a half-second where time seemed suspended as everyone processed this information. Then they all hopped away from the table as if controlled by a hive mind, wands drawn. Angelica Cole blocked the door and Draco couldn’t see another way out. If he so much as reached for his wand he would be Stunned, or worse. He raised his hands in the air, exposing his left forearm and that only seemed to make things worse.

“I can explain,” he lied.

“Get some Aurors,” Ernie said. His wand hand trembled. That fear Draco had taken pride in seeing only a half hour earlier was no longer so amusing. “Have them take him to the detention hold to be assessed.”

“Assessed?” Draco spat. “What the hell—”

A dark purple jinx hit him in the chest and everything went black.


	2. An Unexpected Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are the same here, but they feel different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still June 6th, 2006.

Draco came to a few minutes later, with the back of his t-shirt balled up in someone’s hand. He was unceremoniously shoved into a dingy holding cell on level ten. The barred door swung shut with a loud clang that made Draco flinch backward.

“What the hell?!” he shouted. “On what charges are you keeping me here?”

“They will send an Auror down to assess your threat level,” the security guard said.

“My threat level is rising by the bloody second!” Draco shouted back.

“It’s alright, baby.”

Draco jumped, unaware anyone else was in the cell. He turned to see Hermione Granger, rather worse for wear. Her hair was pulled back and her eyes were dark circles deep enough to swim in. Granger smelled like she had not showered in days. However, she had that glint in her eyes Draco recognized meant she had found the answer to a seemingly insurmountable problem. He forced himself not to pull away when she hugged him. Granger stood on her toes and whispered in his ear.

“Follow my lead.”

She dropped her arms and leaned into his side before turning her gaze to the security guard, whose eyes were the size of macarons.

“Malfoy—um, Draco, here, is my soulmate.”

He never would have dreamed that up. His first instinct was to laugh, but if Granger was desperate enough to claim him as a soulmate they were in far more trouble than he imagined. If the Ministry guards left her in a holding cell for what smelled like days, Merlin only knew how long they would keep him. So Draco awkwardly wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said,

“Right, love. I’d been looking for you.”

 _Love_. He felt her cringe the slightest bit and the word tasted funny on his tongue. Fortunately, the guard seemed to buy it.

“You’d best go get Harry before this mess gets even more embarrassing for Ministry security, wouldn’t you say?” Granger asked.

The guard hightailed it to the stairwell. Once they heard the door shut, Draco and Hermione leapt away from each other.

“Legendary improvisation there, Granger,” Draco said. “Now, what are you on about?”

“This will sound insane,” Granger warned, speaking so quickly her words were sort of jumbled together. “Three days ago I woke up and everyone had a name on their arm, but I didn’t. They all said something about soulmates I dismissed as rubbish, a new trend from _Witch Weekly_ or some nonsense like that. I came to the Ministry for a meeting and everyone freaked out the moment they saw my arm was blank. They dragged me down here and said I would be ‘assessed.’”

“The same happened to me this morning!” Draco exclaimed. “Thank God, I thought it was only me. You look like you have a plan.”

“I don’t know, I … I think we are in a different dimension. A different world, or something. Things are mostly the same here, but they feel different.”

“I understand completely,” Draco agreed. “Now, onto the plan.”

“My plan is get the hell out of here by pretending we are soulmates,” Granger said with a sigh. “It is all I’ve got, and we are going to have to work together.”

“What about after we are free?”

“Let's focus on one problem at a time, Malfoy.”

“Fine by me. How do you plan to do the names? Do you have a quill or—”

Granger shook her head and said, “I have nothing. You?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll do it with magic.”

Draco took a step backward, shaking his head.

“Like hell you will. Magical markings are a hard limit for me, so you need to find another way.”

She insisted, “This is the only option we have. I tried it yesterday and it only lasted about an hour.”

“An hour?” Draco confirmed.

“An hour.” She offered, “I’ll put your name on my arm first, so you can see?”

Draco nodded appreciatively and Granger pulled out her wand. Security must have been completely daft to let her keep it. She took a deep breath and said, “ _Permanens Nomine Draco!_ ” The thick outline of his name appeared first, dominating her left forearm. As it filled in, he noticed they were simple block letters, nothing at all like how he would write his own name.

Granger exhaled and said, “It will fade, I promise.”

His name did not belong on her arm. Nothing belonged on Granger’s arm, just as nothing belonged on his. No names, no symbols, nothing. Of everything life could throw at him, why this? How could the world take away his Dark Mark only to give him something different? Draco gritted his teeth and held out his forearm. He turned his entire body to face the opposite direction but he trusted Granger’s word. He heard her say, “ _Permanens Nomine Hermione!”_ and felt nothing. She let go of his arm just as the stairway door opened. Draco glanced at his arm and saw Hermione’s name written in the same block letters. It was not as uncomfortable as he thought it would be to see her name on his skin. But that was the difference; this was ink _on_ his skin, not a curse embedded _in_ it.

Draco leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Laugh like I said something funny.”

She giggled just as Potter and not one, but three Ministry security guards came into view. Draco lingered for a couple moments with his lips against the shell of her ear before pulling away to take her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly as she trembled.

“Bloody hell!” Potter shouted. “Hermione, what are you doing in here?”

“What am I doing down here?” she spat back. Granger pointed at the guards and said, “They left me down here three days ago! No food, only water, telling me to wait. I am done waiting! Malfoy is my soulmate so they have no reason to hold either one of us and—”

Potter flung the door open and threw his arms around Granger’s shoulders.

“We’ve been looking for you for two days!” He tightened his hold and scrunched his nose. “You smell terrible.”

“Great to see you, too,” Hermione quipped.

Potter looked up at Draco confused.

“What, no hug for me?” Draco asked, facetiously.

Potter rolled his eyes and asked, _“You_  are her soulmate? How the hell is this possible?”

“We have been asking the same question,” Draco answered. He allowed Potter to briefly glimpse his arm before once again wrapping it again around Granger’s shoulders. “If you let us leave now, I will agree not to file a lawsuit that will bankrupt the Ministry.”

“And why would I believe you?” Potter asked.

“Because I’m his lawyer,” Granger said.

Potter grimaced and said, “Of course you are. Yeah, leave, I’ll speak with the security office. Now I understand why you hid the name all these years! Go home and shower, Hermione. No offense, but you need it.”

**.oOo.**

Draco allowed Granger to take him to her home via Sidealong Apparition. It was a quaint brick house somewhere in Hampstead. He followed her up the steps and waited as she unlocked the door.

“This is it,” she said, tossing her keys in a bowl near the door. “What do you think, _babe_?” She chuckled at the end.

Draco smiled and surveyed what he could see of the house. It was modern, but it hardly looked lived-in. There were no photos or portraits on the walls. There were wood floors, the living area had a decent sofa, and she had a tiny table in the dining area. There were pieces of parchment scattered across it, leaving no room for any dinnerware.

“It is very … plain.”

“Yes,” Granger agreed. “It is exactly the same as I left it. Nothing about my life has changed except this soulmate nonsense.”

“Same for me. Have we been cursed?” Draco asked.

“I think so,” Granger said, “but I cannot be sure. I need to do some research.”

“Unless you have a library in your bedroom, I think we are out of luck,” he teased. She glared at him and Draco laughed. “I should have known.”

“I just don’t know what we are looking for,” she admitted.

“I will read while you bathe. Merlin knows you need it.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Library is down that hall to the right. I’ll be a bit. Three days in the Ministry holding cell without toothpaste, you know.”

“Granger?” Draco asked.

She turned around.

“Are you okay? I heard about you and Weasley a few months ago, and—”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off. “I’m fine. Someone told me about you and Greengrass as well. Sorry about that.”

“Two weeks ago,” Draco admitted. “Tried to drown myself in Firewhisky the first few days afterward. Didn’t take.”

“I know the feeling,” Granger said. “The worst part of all this soulmate nonsense is that other than me, and you I suppose, everyone is paired up. That means Ron is here with someone else. He is meant to be with someone else and I can’t stop thinking about who it might be.”

That hit Draco like a punch to the stomach. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and turned in the direction of the library. Astoria was out there somewhere with another man’s name inked on her skin. He opened the door to Granger’s bookroom and smiled.

Hermione Granger had not changed. One wall of what should have been a bedroom was entirely bookshelves. A large armchair was positioned against the far wall, five books spread out on the floor around it like she sat on the floor and leaned against it instead of actually sitting in the chair. Draco walked over to the bookshelf and assumed it was ordered by some sort of system, but whatever was in Granger’s mind was not something he understood.

Draco pulled out his wand and shouted, “ _Accio_ book about soulmates!”

Much to his delight, it worked. A large red book flew off the shelf and slammed directly into his chest; Draco stumbled backward with the force of it. _Partnership: The History of Soulmates_ by Marina D. Love. He flipped the book open to the table of contents and made his way to Granger’s room. Two minds were better than one, and Granger's mind reached places his could never hope to go.

**Table of Contents**

  1. Origin of Soul Magic ….. 1
  2. Soul Bonds in the Renaissance ….. 37
  3. Soul Magic in the Modern World ..… 59
  4. Soul Magic and Social Structures ….. 97
  5. Soulmate Pros and Cons ….. 182
  6. A History of Soulmate Betrayal ….. 224
  7. “What if I Don’t Have a Soulmate?” ….. 354



Draco immediately flipped through to chapter seven, only to find the book ended on page 353. He opened Granger’s door and sat on the edge of her bed. Her room was just like the rest of the house: white walls devoid of personality. He flipped the book open somewhere in the middle, landing on a page in Chapter 5.

_“No one on this earth is made to rescue you from the depths of your own despair. Sadness and pain are not beautiful, they are violent emotions. True anguish feels like someone sliced your chest open just to watch you bleed onto the floor.”_

Draco cringed, as that hit far too close to home. He was about to turn the page when he noticed the mark on his arm had faded to ----- _one_. He sighed in relief.

_“Life is fragile and the only thing strong enough to bind souls together is love. Muggles spend their entire lives searching, guessing, and hoping they chose the right person. Magical people, on the other hand, know who makes them strongest. We get to look at our soulmate and know there is no one better-suited to who we are than the person whose name is inked on our arm by magic that predates Merlin himself.”_

Draco scoffed. Another mark to remove his freedom of choice. Dark Mark or soul bond, he saw little difference. He flipped a few pages and started at the top.

 _“It is important to remember that soulmates do not exist to control or pressure you. A soulmate simply makes you,_ you _. Everyone has moments when they question themselves. There times in life when you will stumble and fall, when you are in a sort of agony you have never imagined and it feels like standing up is impossible. Your soulmate will not hoist your arm over their shoulders and drag you to the finish line—that is what friends are for._ _A soulmate is the reason you get back up on your own. The world will put you down seventy-two different ways before breakfast if you let it, but your soulmate will always see the truth in who you are. You will get up and brush yourself off because they believe in you every bit as much as you believe in them.”_

Draco heard the bathroom door open. He glanced up to see Granger coming out of the bathroom in nothing but a silky green robe.

“OH MY GOD!” she shouted. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BEDROOM?!”

Draco held up the book and said, “Reading.”

She clutched the edges of her robe together and awkwardly crossed her arms across her tits. Draco chuckled.

“Right, well, just … Throw your face into the pillows or something while I get dressed,” she demanded.

Draco did as she asked, dutifully turning around to face the window.

“I found the proper book but we have a problem.”

“What’s that?” Granger asked. Her voice was muffled once she began to dig through her wardrobe.

“The ‘What If I Don’t Have a Soulmate?’ chapter is missing.”

“Of course it is,” Hermione said facetiously. “Nothing is ever so easy. The obvious solution is to find another copy of the book.”

“Won’t it arouse suspicion if we, newly-announced soulmates whose marks fade on the hour, start hunting around for a book about people who don’t have soulmates? Granger, the people at the Ministry looked at me like I was about to pull the Dark Lord out of my pocket. I was labeled a threat by people who do not even know me.”

“Everyone knows you,” Granger countered.

“And what I have done,” Draco agreed. “They also know what I am fighting for and how much I stand to lose.”

“What is that, exactly?” she asked. “You never said why you were at the Ministry this morning. Was it for CODE?”

“Yes, it was.”

“You do not sound thrilled.”

“The Wizengamot Legislative Committee has taken up the Reclassification of Marriage Act.”

“I have heard of it,” Granger said. “Not exactly sure what about marriage in the Wizarding world needs to be reclassified, but—”

“It is a ban on all marriages featuring a Death Eater or their children,” Draco revealed. He heard a drawer slam shut.

“They can’t do that!”

“I am afraid they can,” Draco said. “Minister Shacklebolt would never go for it but the Wizengamot can override him with enough votes. My only hope is to kill the bill in committee before it reaches them.”

Granger stepped into his sightline, frowning. Her hair was damp and she had done no more than throw on jeans and a Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt. He laughed and said,

“Now we match, _love_.”

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand and insisted, “Tell me more about the bill.”

Draco sat on the bed and crossed his arms.

“They claim it will help destroy the ideology, but all this does is push it forward. It gives people reason to be prejudiced, it gives rise to hatred. Merlin knows I have had enough of that for a couple lifetimes. As have you.”

“We all have our scars,” she conceded.

“But the worst part is they would dissolve unions already recognized by the Ministry. My parents’, for example, and that would wreck my mother. My best mate, Theo, he was married the year after Trace graduated. So about six years ago. They have four-year-old twins, Sebastian and Scarlett, my godchildren and the lights of my fucking life, Granger. I am the only defense their parents’ marriage has. This bill would tell children their parents’ love is not even real, or it is somehow invalid.”

“I swear, Malfoy, there must be a law preventing this. I have read somewhere—”

“The Wizengamot makes the laws, Granger!” Draco shouted. “They can change anything they want. So I will bribe and threaten whomever I must to make life livable for the people I care about.”

“Why do you do that?” she asked. “Why do you resort to money and threats?”

“Because I don’t have anything else,” Draco admitted. "They took everything else away from me."

Hermione paused and picked the red book off the bed. She weighed it in her hands, ran her fingertips across the cover, then hugged it to her chest. Granger looked at the “e” near Draco’s left wrist and said,

“You have me.”

“Sorry, what?”

“This is completely mad, but no matter what it looks like this is not our home. While we are here, I think we are each other’s only protection. If it is true that without a name on our arm we are a threat, we need a soulmate to survive until we figure out how to leave. If you will be my soulmate, I will agree to be yours.”

Draco’s heart stopped for a moment. He swallowed thickly and ran a hand through his hair. Her eyes saw almost everything, but some truths were buried too deep for even Hermione Granger to see.

“I fail to see how this is relevant to the marriage ban.”

“Because you were a Death Eater!” Granger shouted.

God, it all came rushing back for a moment. Shame, guilt, fear clutching at his neck. Draco tugged at his shirt collar again and winced.

“An unnecessary reminder.”

“No,” she said. Granger stepped forward and moved like she wanted to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but halfway through the motion she remembered they weren’t a couple. They were not even friends. Her hand fell back to her side and she said, “You have me.”

Then it hit him.

“If we are soulmates, we can get married,” he deduced. “This bill would prevent our union, and the Wizengamot could never be seen destroying Hermione Granger’s happiness.”

“Exactly.”

“You are a bloody genius, I will give you that.”

“High praise,” she quipped. “I promise will campaign against it back home as fiercely as I can, Draco. Love is not something the Ministry should be involved in.”

Draco stood and pulled her into a hug.

“We agree on that much,” he said.

Hermione hugged him back and said, “I believe that if we can’t protect the people in our world right now, let’s at least fight to make something right in this one.”

Draco couldn’t help but admire that.

“Small problem,” he observed. Draco backed away and held up his blank forearm. “No one will believe us with these names.”

“I will find a stronger spell,” Granger replied.

“I think I may have a more reliable, more permanent solution.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she said, “I don’t like where your mind is going, Draco Malfoy.”

He held out his hand and said, “Trust me, _love._ ”

Draco didn’t think she would do it. Every bone in her body must have been screaming at her to run out the front door and straight to St. Mungo’s for observation. Hell, even he knew this was a terrible idea. But in a world that was like home in most ways and terrifyingly not in others, Hermione Granger was his only hope.

She took his hand with a shy smile and said, “I trust you, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo Nott is married to Tracey Davis.


	3. "I Go as You Go"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has friends in low places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place entirely on June 6th, 2006.
> 
> TW: References to past drug abuse.

“Do you have a Floo?”

Granger shook her head and said, “No, but my office does.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Granger grabbed her keys and Draco followed her out the front door, happy to leave the house. Admittedly, there were times Malfoy Manor was overwhelming. His parents, the portraits, the massive library, and if he had been away for awhile all the hallways began to look the same. But every time he stepped inside his house it felt like home. Comfort and familiarity, because Malfoy Manor always felt like that was the place he was meant to be. Granger’s house had none of that.

“My office is about twenty minutes that way,” she said, pointing down the road.

“I am fine with a walk.”

It was quiet as Draco followed Granger for the first few minutes. He finally asked,

“What sort of law do you actually practice?”

“All sorts, really,” she replied. “I can research just about anything and Padma is fantastic help. She can sway any jury anywhere, Wizengamot included. I do a lot of work on behalf of magical creatures and I represent a few charitable organizations. Then, of course, I am England’s delegate to the G8 ¾.”

“I commend you for that since I loathe politics.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “I assumed because of all your work with CODE you must really enjoy it.”

“I only founded CODE because I felt responsible for the other kids like me. People will do all sorts of terrible things to hurt me and they do not care who they go through to do it. The marriage ban is just the latest example. The Ministry tried to do all sorts of ridiculous things, like banning CODE members from working in the Ministry and insisting all CODE members undergo an annual security investigation. So many people have reason to make my life miserable and CODE was the only way I knew to protect the people who may get hurt because of it.”

“Draco Malfoy has empathy,” Hermione teased. She pulled the book closer to her chest. “Who would have imagined?”

“It was not an easy conversion, _love_ ,” he said with a smile.

She gagged and asked, “What made you find your heart, _babe_?”

“My godchildren,” he admitted. “It occurred to me that I am responsible for the world they grow up in, and I have the resources to make it better. At the end of the day, I did not want them to have a childhood like mine.”

“Oh.”

Granger looked like she wanted to say more but chose not to. That was fine, Draco could keep talking. Anything to keep his mind off what he was about to do. If he thought about it too much he was sure to back out.

“After solving the problem of the names on our arms, what next?”

“We need to find the author of this book. She’ll tell us what we need to know and we won’t have to expose ourselves at Flourish and Blott’s,” Granger said. She looked down at the book and mumbled, “Marina D. Love.”

“Appropriately named,” Draco quipped.

Granger made a right turn and led him onto a small street filled with little storefronts. Granger & Patil was a nondescript building toward the middle. She inhaled deeply as they approached and the door opened without request. She stepped inside and Draco followed to see Padma Patil at the front desk. She was brilliant and fucking gorgeous, which always made Draco wonder how the hell she ended up with one of his closest friends.

“Malfoy,” she greeted.

“Padma,” he replied, “nice to see you. How is Bastien?”

“As adorable and insufferable as ever. Hermione, where the hell have you been and what is Draco doing in our office?”

“We need to use the Floo,” Granger replied. She took Draco’s hand and half-dragged him toward the back. “It is … you know … Floo season.”

“Floo season?” Padma repeated.

Granger did not answer. She walked over to the fireplace and stepped inside before motioning for Draco to join her. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and ducked his head, stuffing himself inside the fireplace. They ended up face-to-face ... Well, Granger was so short her face was right in his chest and other parts of her were pressed against rather sensitive parts of him. He looked up and grimaced, thinking about Professor Snape and Hippogriffs.

“Any time you want to get on with it would be nice,” Granger said.

“Sorry, what?”

“The Floo.”

“Sure, right, yeah,” Draco said. He shook all the thoughts from his head but remained very aware of every part of Hermione against him. Draco threw down the Floo powder and said, “Tergeo Tattoos!”

Granger looked over at him and said, “No bloody way are you—”

She was cut off as green flames rose from the bottom of the fireplace. They were spat out a few seconds later onto a wooden floor and Draco winced as he stood up. He offered his arm to Granger but she waved him off and stood of her own accord.

They took a few moments to survey the room. It was rather small, the door and large windows looked out on the alley to the right. There was a large sofa on the wall next to them. The wall across from them had some paintings but the focus was a vast selection of ink jars in a variety of colours. Finally, on the wall to their left was an inkchair and a lone stool. 

“Where the hell are we?” Granger asked.

“Knockturn Alley.”

“You brought me to a tattoo shop in Knockturn Alley?!” she shouted.

They heard something crash in an adjoining room. A voice cried out,

“Oi, read the sign, asshole! It says by appointment only!” Pansy Parkinson appeared from the back of the studio, long black hair pulled back in a bun with a charcoal pencil stuck through it. She was wearing an apron and her usual black t-shirt/black jeans combination. Pansy caught sight of her guests and grinned. “Draco! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hi, Pans!” Draco said. He opened his arms and Pansy ran to hug him. Merlin, he didn’t realize how much he needed to see someone familiar until right then. The world felt a bit less hostile with his arms around one of his closest friends. “I need a massive favour.”

Pansy pulled back and insisted, “Anything you need. You know that.”

“I know, Pans, I know,” Draco said. “I need you to promise not to wig out on me, first.”

“Think back on all the terrible shit I’ve caught you doing, then think about whether anything could possibly surprise me,” Pansy countered.

She had a point. Draco lifted his left arm and said,

“I do not have a soulmate.”

Pansy blinked. She glanced at his arm then looked back to Granger, who reluctantly raised her left arm to expose blank skin. Pansy rolled her eyes.

“What the fuck, I already know that. I thought you were going to say she’s pregnant! What a disappointment.”

“I would never!” Granger insisted.

“You could sound a little less disgusted by the idea,” Draco countered. Given their history he was not surprised, but still a little offended. He turned back to Pansy and asked, “You are not concerned about this? Not going to threaten to hex us or have us thrown in prison?”

“Do you think you’re the first people who have come to me begging for a name? I have forged soulmate names for seven people this year alone. I don’t care which universe you’re in, the world is never fair. The only difference is who the world determines is worthwhile.”

“Speaking of different universes …” Granger trailed off. “We think we’ve been cursed. There are no soulmates where we come from and we are certainly not from here.”

“I’m not surprised. There is something very different about you, Draco. I can’t quite tell what it is, but I am happy to see it." She paused halfway to the ink wall and asked, "Wait, if you aren’t soulmates, who are you with where you came from?”

“You are remarkably calm about this,” Granger observed.

“See, now I think you’re avoiding the question,” Pansy countered.

Draco snickered.

“I was with Ron and Malfoy, here, was with Astoria Greengrass.”

Draco felt like he may vomit. That wound was still fresh and there she was, tossing that information about like it was nothing. _Was_. Draco _was_ with Astoria. That fucking word made all the difference.

Pansy guffawed.

“Are you serious?” she asked and doubled-over in laughter. Pansy's normal laugh was more of a dark chuckle, but this? This was the sort that had her waving them off insisting, "Oh, God, I need a minute." She wiped tears from her eyes, and before either one of them could answer she waved them off again. “Merlin’s saggy bollocks, that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Why, exactly, would that be funny?” Draco asked through gritted teeth.

Pansy shook her head and said, “You will find out eventually. Ah, I was having a shitty day then you walked in. What can I do for you?”

“Can you replicate a name?” Draco asked. “Make it convincing enough so that someone can stare at it and not tell the difference?”

“The fuck, of course I can. Why would you even ask?” Pansy quipped. “Which one of you is going first and whose name d’you want?”

“I am not doing this,” Granger insisted. She shook her head and repeated, “This is not happening.”

Draco walked toward the inkchair and said, “You can wear sleeves during our time here, Granger. Fine by me.”

“Are you mad?!” Granger shouted. “You would put my name on your arm forever?”

Draco shrugged and sank back into the chair.

“Can hardly be worse than what used to be there.”

“That does not seem like a good reason to—”

“You can keep wearing sleeves or try that little glamour spell, but one of us must do this to make our charade believable. You know I am right because everyone will be staring at our arms once we come out as a couple. If they keep disappearing, people are bound to notice. Someone has to make this choice and after everything I have done I cannot ask you to take my name.”

Pansy pulled two black jars from the wall and said, “Granger, turn off the Floo and lock the door. Can’t have anyone walking in on this or we’ll all get tossed in Azkaban for the trouble. Once you’re done, come back here and write your name on this parchment.”

Granger did as Pansy asked without much thought. She shut off the Floo then turned to the shop door and murmured, _Colloportus!_ Pansy adjusted one of the chair shelves to lie outward horizontally just below Draco’s left shoulder. Hermione grabbed Pansy’s quill and stared at the proffered parchment. They watched as she dipped the quill in the ink, fingers trembling. It hovered over the parchment as ink droplets clung to the nib.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “When we find a way home, who is to say this won’t remain on your arm?”

“It probably will,” Draco admitted. “I will come up with a story to explain this later, Hermione, but I need you to do this right now to keep us safe.”

Draco could tell it was her name that did it. Not Granger, but _Hermione._  She took her time, ensuring her hand was steady as she drew out each of the eight letters. She was silent as she wrote and tossed the quill on the table once she finished. Then Draco placed his arm on the extended shelf, forearm up. Pansy waved a hand over the parchment and the ink leapt into the air, keeping the form of Hermione’s name. Pans slowly moved her hand over to Draco’s arm and the ink came with it. She took a minute to ensure it was positioned properly before letting the ink fall onto his skin.

The tattoo contraption whirred to life and Draco found the machinery’s hum rather soothing. He cast a final glance at his forearm before turning to look out the window.

“Get on with it.”

He jumped a bit at the first needle prick. Not out of pain, just a bit surprised. Pansy worked slowly, methodically. If she put that much effort into school she may well have attained a N.E.W.T. in something. Pansy’s work was intricate as she completed a letter, wiped the ink away, then filled in the gaps before moving on. The pattern lulled him into subconsciousness, the pain nothing more than a simple scratch. Granger stared at his arm the whole time.

“Does it hurt?’ she asked.

“After taking the Dark Mark, which felt like someone had stuck my arm into a vat of Fiendfyre, this is a walk in the bloody park.”

“I can’t believe you are doing this,” she repeated. “I thought you hated me.”

“You are my only hope at getting out of this place,” he lied.

Pansy scoffed.

“He only resents you because he has a massive crush on you.”

Draco glared at her and said, “Thanks, Pans.”

“My Draco would never admit it, of course, but this one is no different. Glaring out the window like putting a Muggle-born’s name on his arm won’t cause his father to have a fit in any universe.”

“Oh, I am counting on it,” Draco replied.

“I suppose we will have to tell your parents,” Hermione realized. “Oh, God, Draco … We have to tell _my_ parents!”

“Fanbloodytastic,” he quipped. “Shall we do yours first? I figure we are more likely to make it out of their house with all our limbs attached.”

They ruminated on that for a few minutes before Hermione demanded, “Tell us more about soulmates. What’s it like? How does it work?”

“I dunno, the name just appears on your arm one day. It usually happens before you turn twenty, but it can happen any time. The common assumption with you two was that Draco had a Muggle’s name on his arm and yours was some great historical figure who died centuries before you were born.”

“Can that happen?” Granger asked.

“Yes, it can happen,” Pansy revealed. “No one ever thought the two of you had each other’s names, though. Can’t wait for _Witch Weekly_ and _Spella_ to have a go at this one. You both told everyone you disguised your names behind a glamour so no one could see them. I know for a fact that Draco was lying; he didn’t have a name.”

He suspected as much. The idea of someone wanting to love him was absurd.

“Whose name do you have, Pans?” Draco asked. He watched her as her grin made it all the way up to her eyes. Draco had never seen her smile quite like that.

“Katie.”

“Katie Bell?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“My one and only,” Pansy replied, that smile not leaving her face.

Draco wondered if there was anyone out there who could make him smile like that. Who could make him feel as whole as that goddamn book said he would. What he would give for just one day of that.

“Mine came early and hers came later. She was ashamed of it and never told me so I went through a dozen Katies before I found her. It took a lot of work, but I got to a place where she felt safe enough to love me the way I needed her to. That is what soulmates are all about; doing the work on yourself so your partner feels the same way you do.”

Draco liked that. He felt the needle working closer to his wrist.

“Thirty years ago, most everyone had a soulmate and those who didn’t were happy to be free of it. Everything changed when people found out the Dark Lord didn’t have a name. After the first war, people assumed everyone without a name was one of his followers or a threat in their own right.”

“Soulmate names only appear on magical people?” Granger asked.

“Yup,” Pansy said, popping her lips on the ‘P.’ “I’ll give someone a tattoo with a name of their choice. They tell people their soulmate must be a Muggle and it just so happens they never find each other. A lie with few consequences.”

“Why don’t you believe this shit, Pans?” Draco asked.

“The most common theory is that the Dark Lord had no name because he was conceived under the effects of Amortentia. Buncha Hippogriff shit. Listen, your parents make you who you are at the core, I won’t deny that. They create the canvas, but you are the ink. You control your actions and that is true name or no name. The Dark Lord had no good reason to do what he did. Without him and without my parents preaching all that hate every single day of my goddamn life, I might’ve found Katie a lot sooner. The more hatred you have in your soul, the harder it is for love to find its way in. Simple as that.” Pansy patted Draco’s shoulder and said, “You’re done.”

Draco looked down at his arm, **Hermione** written there in her neatest penmanship. She tried her best and he appreciated the odd characteristics of her writing which were starkly apparent against his skin. The small gap between the “i” and the “o” for example. The dot of the “i” that was more a line than a circle. He smiled down at it and said,

“I like it.”

He stood up from the chair and made to grab some Galleons from his back pocket. Pansy waved him off.

“On the house if you answer one question, and answer it honestly.”

Draco shrugged and said, “Go for it.”

Pansy turned off the tattoo iron and pulled off her gloves before asking, “When was the last time you went to Millicent’s?”

More memories came flooding back; memories he didn’t want. Drowning in a sparkling grey haze of Angel’s Trumpet Draught in Millicent Bulstrode’s flat next to people whose names he never cared to learn. Shot after shot after shot, hoping to get high enough to escape the world for just one fucking minute. He’d wake up hours later, spread out on the floor with drool puddled at the corners of his mouth, feet bloodied by the shards of a broken bottle of Firewhisky. And that was before he found Moonseed.

“Nearly five years ago for me,” he admitted. “I take it your version of me has not held out quite as long?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Pansy said. She sighed and admitted, “I suppose the pain of knowing there truly is no one out there to love you caught up. And you got inventive when it came to finding ways to numb that pain.”

“Sounds like me,” he agreed. “But I stopped going after Theo and Tracey had the twins. I didn’t want to be the sort of godparent that only shows up for birthdays and Christmases.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, suddenly very interested in her hands.

“Oh?” Draco repeated.

“It’s just that … Well, some things are different. You’re different.”

Draco worriedly asked, “Pans, who is godfather to the twins?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she started cleaning off her tray and busying herself any way she could. Draco knew the answer, but repeated the question anyway because he needed to hear her say it.

“Who is godfather to the twins?”

“Bastien Queensbury.”

It was like Draco had been standing in a giant snow globe and someone had just given it a great big shake. He made his way over to the sofa before his legs gave out beneath him. What if Granger wasn’t enough? What if they were stuck in this cursed universe where he was a person without anyone to love him the way he so desperately needed? How could he be expected to live in this world when the one good thing in his life had been delegated to someone else?

Parchment, quill, and a jar of ink appeared on the table in front of him. Hermione pushed everything toward him and said,

“I go as you go. One name, five letters.”

Draco bit down on his lip. He did not need her pity. Hermione Granger was just another person who came into his life only to walk out the moment they found their way home.

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

She smiled tentatively and said, “I trust you, babe.”


	4. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds his friends and avoids his parents, while he and Hermione realize just how little they really know about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place entirely on June 6th, 2006.

Granger never flinched.

"Draco's arm is already healed," she observed aloud. "How is that possible?"

"It is a Shrivelfig-based ink," Pansy answered. "The healing properties are what help embed it into the skin, and it gives the tattoo the purple tinge found in all soulmate names. I travel to Abyssinia every year to replenish my stock."

Pansy worked slowly and answered each question Hermione threw at her. The more Draco heard about “soul magic,” the more he hated it ... And the more he wanted it. He could not determine whether it was more important to choose who to love, or to be loved at all. He stared at Marina D. Love’s book on the table in front of him. Something bothered him, something about that name was too perfect. It was right there, but his thoughts were all over the place and he could not piece it together.

“Malfoy?!”

Granger’s voice pulled Draco from his thoughts. Damn, he hated being lost in his head like that.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He jumped when she touched his shoulder.

“Ah, the, um, don’t do that. Please,” he stuttered. “The touching … Don’t do that.”

“Okay,” she said, holding her hands up.

His eyes were drawn instinctively to his name. Hermione was a dainty afterthought on his arm. Her small penmanship took up barely half the available real estate. His name on Hermione, however, took up almost the entire underside of her forearm.

“I cannot believe you did that,” Draco said.

She shrugged it off and blew past him en route to the door.

“Shit!” Draco practically sprinted toward the door. “Thanks, Pans! I owe you one!”

“Yeah, you owe me one in this universe!”

“Noted!” He stopped Hermione just before she got to the door and said, “You cannot go out there.”

“Why not?” she asked. “I can look after myself.”

“Not out there, you can’t,” Pansy shouted over to them.

“There are eyes, ears, and wands everywhere here,” he whispered as he pulled Hermione back toward the middle of the shop. “No sleeves means someone will see. You cannot defend your front and your back at the same time.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hermione asked.

Draco offered his hand and said, “Let’s go shopping.”

**.oOo.**

If Draco was honest with himself, there were a half-dozen other boutiques they could have gone to and no one would have said anything. This one, though … This one was familiar and he needed something that felt like home because the past four hours had turned his world inside-out. Blaise did not even look up from the counter when they walked in.

“How may I assist you?” he asked in a bored voice. He flipped a page in _Wizards Quarterly_ and dog-eared the next.

“Do you think I popped ‘round for brunch?” Draco teased.

Blaise lifted his head and smiled. Merlin’s arse, he was gorgeous and Draco never ceased to be stunned by it. He knew for a fact that Blaise had a buzzcut because it forced people to look at his face and everyone always seemed a bit starstruck the first time they saw him. Brown eyes so dark the irises were barely discernable from his pupils. Draco was fairly certain he was part-Siren, but Blaise only ever answered that with a smirk.

“How are you?” He leaned a bit to get a better look at Draco’s guest. “And why are you here with Hermione Granger?”

She whispered, “Why are we only visiting your friends? I have friends too, you know.”

Draco ignored her and told Blaise, “We have run into a bit of a problem.”

Blaise’s face fell and he asked Hermione, “What has he pulled you into?”

First Pans, then Blaise, and he’d wager Theo would have the same reaction. The more people he saw, the more Draco realized the sort of person he became in this world. The person he would have become if he kept going to Millicent’s. Draco nudged Hermione and said,

“Show him your arm, _love_.”

Granger looked up at him to confirm he had a plan. Draco nodded and silently begged, _Trust me._ Granger begrudgingly lifted her arm, revealing Draco’s name. His heart stuttered a bit; he would never get used to seeing that. He did the same and said,

“It has only been a few days since we—”

Blaise ran out from behind the counter and pulled Draco into a tight hug that Draco returned with equal fervor. Blaise was a quiet, stoic sort of person but he gave the best hugs. It was like settling into a thick blanket; nothing in the world mattered except Blaise Zabini’s arms around his shoulders.

“Congratulations! I knew it would happen. It had to, you deserve that much and Granger is far too good for you but maybe—" Blaise paused and pulled back a bit to search Draco’s face. He met Draco’s gaze and his brow furrowed, seeing the same thing Pansy saw when they entered her shop.

“You look different … Are you …?” He paused and stepped backward in disbelief. “Are you sober?”

Bloody hell, at least Pans had been subtle about it. Draco could feel Hermione’s curious gaze boring holes in the side of his head. He nodded and Blaise laughed.

“That is amazing! I am so proud of you. I honestly never thought you could pull yourself out of it. Merlin, I am so happy for you, I just ... I don't even know what to say." He finally patted Draco on the arm and said, "Apologies, what do you need?”

“Sleeves,” Granger said. “Something with sleeves.”

“You do not want people to know about this?” Blaise asked. He turned to Draco and asked, “Why? This is amazing! You have a soulmate and you are clean! We have been waiting years and—”

“Do you think I can go back to the manor with Hermione Granger’s name on my arm?” Draco hissed. “I just need time to figure out what to say to them.”

“I think you underestimate how much they want you to be happy,” Blaise countered. He shrugged and gestured toward the shop. “It really is none of my business. Please, explore the shop. Normally I am not here but my employee fell ill, so have the bloody run of the place.”

Draco surveyed the shop’s offerings. There were clothes everywhere, Wizard and Muggle items alike. There was everything from long, flowing robes for special occasions next to zip-up hoodies. Draco meandered around a bit, the shop far larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Hermione came over and whispered,

“Why aren’t you telling him? You told Pansy.”

“Because Pans is good at reading people and would have figured out we are not the same. Blaise is a skeptic and would have us committed if we showed up in his shop saying we were from a different dimension or universe or whatever the hell you wish to call it.”

“So we keep lying to everyone?” she asked.

“Hopefully we will not be here long enough for it to matter.”

She nodded and went off to shop on her own. Draco had always liked Blaise’s selection and ran his hands across the shoulders of a black leather jacket. It was summer and he had no real reason to wear it … But for some reason, he wanted it. Eventually he made his way over to the changing room and began to try things on. His first choice was a simple black hoodie. Comfortable, not distinctive, perfect for hiding things Draco did not want anyone to suspect him of hiding. He flipped the hood up and walked outside to see Blaise and Hermione lounging on one of the couches.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You look like the world’s shiniest drug lord,” Hermione quipped.

“If you are looking for a blonde crime boss, that would be his mother.” Blaise chuckled and said, “Next.”

Draco rolled his eyes and returned to the changing room. He heard Blaise and Hermione discussing something in low whispers but couldn’t make it out. He switched out his Quidditch t-shirt for a black button-down and pulled on a flowing green robe that was completely open in the front. He pulled the curtain back with a dramatic _whoosh!_ and stepped out.

“Much better,” Blaise said. “Are you going to take the jacket, too?”

“Yeah,” Draco admitted. “I want it.”

“Good!” Blaise said. He popped up and went over to the register. “Because I invited you and Granger to come to the club with us on Friday and you should wear it.”

“Us?” Draco whispered to Hermione. Blaise didn't have an 'us' back home, but Draco supposed he must have one in this world. Didn't everyone? He closed the curtain and changed back into his Quidditch t-shirt.

“Him and Dean,” Hermione replied through the curtain.

“Dean Thomas?” he confirmed, sliding the curtain back. She nodded and he paused to consider it. “I never thought about it before.”

“But he looks happy,” Hermione said.

“I have never seen him smile so much,” Draco admitted. “Funny how that works. In this world I am apparently more miserable than ever, yet my friends are happier than I have ever seen them.”

“Do you think we are supposed to see this?” Hermione asked. “Maybe that is why we ended up here together. Perhaps the curse that put us here is trying to tell us that we should consider finding love in people we don’t expect.”

Draco shook his head.

“Can't be.”

Hermione shrugged and they walked to the register together. Draco grabbed a pair of pyjamas and boxers and tossed everything on the countertop.

“Thirty-five Galleons for the jacket, and the rest is yours as long as you promise to come on Friday,” Blaise said.

“Promise,” Draco said, praying he wouldn’t be there to keep it. “Blaise, do you know anyone named Marina?”

He thought for a moment before shaking his head, “No.”

“Right, well, thank you,” Draco said, lifting the bag with his purchases. Granger made for the door and Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“You are my best friend, you can ask me anything,” Blaise replied.

“You and Dean … What does it feel like?”

Blaise teasingly asked, “Are you and Granger planning to get creative in the bedroom?”

“No, none of that,” Draco insisted, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Granger and I are … Working things out. This is new, is all.”

“Malfoy, you coming?!” Hermione shouted from the door.

“One minute!” he replied.

Blaise leaned forward and said, “He makes me laugh. I never realized how much I missed laughing until I ran into Dean again. What we remembered of each other from school was completely different from the people we became. He made me see what life could be like if I allowed myself to be a little uncomfortable. That is the thing about soulmates, growth and comfort cannot coexist. Having a soulmate is not convenient, hell, you and Hermione Granger will probably be as painful as it gets. But you will like the person you become because of her. That is what it feels like.”

**.oOo.**

They Flooed back to Hermione’s office and decided to walk back to her house. Draco walked at her side because someone had to watch the street as Hermione flipped through the book.

“This is incredibly well-researched,” she commented.

“Would you mind if I stay at your house tonight?”

“Why?” Granger asked without looking up.

“Because I am not ready to go home,” he admitted. “If I stayed with anyone else, they would ask why I was not at the manor. ‘An interdimensional curse stuck me here with Hermione Granger and we have to pretend we are soulmates’ will only work on Pansy.”

“Why do you not want to be at the manor?”

“Because I do not want to face my father about this. We aren’t getting out of here any time soon, are we?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Draco wondered if they could keep up the charade for an extended period of time. A couple of days, perhaps. They may even be able to fool Hermione’s parents, but her friends? Draco was not confident. They walked in silence for a minute or so before Granger asked,

“What was at Millicent’s?”

“Drugs,” Draco answered without hesitation.

“What sort of drugs?” she asked, concerned. “Why?”

“You heard Pans. I was there to numb the pain.”

“In whatever world this is, but not in our world, right?”

“I had the same pain, Granger,” Draco said. “The only difference was that I found two reasons to fight it; reasons that I do not have here. To answer your first question, I got the best high money can buy. Mostly Angel’s Trumpet at the beginning—”

“That’s a poison!”

“If you want to be technical about it.” Draco shrugged. “Great fucking high, though.”

“Oh my God,” Granger muttered. She ran a hand through her hair and said, “Oh my God, you were taking poison to get high!”

“You are judging me,” Draco teased. “Perhaps you have forgotten, but I spent an entire year wondering whether I would be sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban. They told me to sit and wait; let the lawyers do what they do. The truth will speak for itself. Potter will speak in your defense. I had to put all my hope on Harry bloody Potter and a bunch of lawyers—no offense meant to you, of course.”

“None taken, your defense team was shit.”

“Exactly! Those are the only people who would so much as touch my case. I asked my friends if they knew a way to relax or a way to forget. Just for a little while—wow, I do not remember the walk being so long this morning.”

Draco had no idea how far away they were. He saw Granger looking at him in his peripheral vision; the same look he had seen all those years ago when he told his friends he could deal with this problem alone. Judgement, curiosity, and pity all packaged in one neat facial expression.

“Just for a little while, you said?” Hermione asked. “How long did it last?”

“Why does it matter to you?” Draco snapped.

“Because it does!” she said.

“The trial began when I was nineteen and the twins were born when I was almost twenty-two.”

“What else did you do?” she asked. “You said ‘mostly’ Angel’s Trumpet, but what else was there?”

“Lots of Faerie Dust and Pixie Dust. Say what you will about Millicent, she can roll the best—”

“What else?” Granger asked, impatient.

“What the hell is this, therapy?” Draco quipped as he saw Hermione’s house in the distance. “Oh, thank Merlin.”

“What else?” she repeated.

“Moonseed.”

Hermione grabbed his arm so he turned to face her.

“I know what that does,” she said. “I’ve never heard of someone coming off it.”

“It was not easy, but few things in life are.”

“Draco—”

“ _Hermione!_ " he seethed. "What would you like me to say? Moonseed makes you calm. It felt like my brain was floating inside my skull and I had no problems and there was nothing in the world that could bother me. I miss that feeling every fucking day, but you know what I don’t miss? Waking up with my shirt halfway across the room and my hair falling out and my teeth turning colours teeth should never be. I hated being away from the manor for weeks at a time because I couldn’t show up without my mother seeing what a bloody wreck my life had become. And I do not miss the way my friends looked at me! The same way they look at me here. So if you could please stop interrogating me and focus on getting us the hell out of whatever cursed world we are stuck in, I would very much appreciate it!”

He wrenched his arm from her grip. Hermione stared up at him and he couldn’t quite make out what was happening behind her eyes. He walked back toward her house and she followed. As they went through the front door, Draco figured it was his turn to ask questions.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Three months,” she answered. Hermione tossed her keys just as he had watched her do earlier that day. She made her way to the kitchen with all the excitement of an Imperius victim. Granger grabbed a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky and a glass without looking at either of them. “You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

She shrugged then took a swig straight from the bottle. She grimaced, then replaced the glass and closed the bottlecap. Granger then walked toward her small library and Draco followed because he didn’t know what else to do. He tossed the bag of clothes on the floor and Granger tried to pretend he was not there at all. Hermione scanned her shelves and Draco sat in the chair to watch. She Summoned books, scanned the tables of contents, and put them back when she did not find anything that could lead to an answer.

“This does not look like how I would picture your home.”

“You don’t know me well enough to understand what home means to me,” she countered without looking up.

“I know this does not feel like anyone’s version of home. There are things you expect: photographs, furniture you actually use, food—”

“Shut up!” she shouted. That was the most emotion he had seen from her all day, so Draco kept pushing.

“No matter what, I know the manor is home because I am comfortable there. I cannot imagine anyone being here and wanting to come back.”

“I didn’t plan to stay!” she admitted. Red sparks flew from her fingertips so she returned the book in her hand to its place on the shelf and wrapped her arms around her chest. She lowered her voice and said, “I never intended to make this my home.”

“Because if you do, it means you are moving on?” he guessed.

“If I make this my home, then _our_ home becomes _his_ home. Then there is nothing left that is ours.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “Anyway, it’s stupid. The breakup was mutual. I fell out of love with him a long time ago and it had to happen, but God, it hurts.”

“At least you saw it coming,” Draco said. “Astoria just came home one day and ended it. The worst part, of course, is that she was right to.”

“But Ron still loved me,” Hermione revealed. “The look on his face when he said it was over made me wish I did love him. I thought maybe I could find that part of myself again if I just gave it time but—”

“Don’t,” Draco insisted. “Do not change yourself just to make someone else accept you back into their life. If there is anything I know, it is that pretending to be something you are not never ends well.”

“What did you pretend to be?” Hermione asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She groaned and said, “I am tired of us dancing around each other’s questions! We have to work together here, and that is hard enough on our best days. I mean it when I say I trust you, but please try not to make it more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Fine, but I am still at a loss as to why you would trust me at all. I still cannot believe your first tattoo was my bloody name on your arm,” Draco admitted.

“It’s not.”

Draco blinked twice then asked, “Sorry, what?”

“It is not my first tattoo. Or my second, or my third.”

“Oh my God!” Draco shouted. His eyes lit up with intrigue. “Hermione Granger, you bloody tease! When? Where? Why?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she challenged.

“Hell yes!” Draco laughed, having his own words tossed back in his face.

She stared at the ground, contemplating something. Eventually, she asked,

“What if we are stuck here?”

“We are not stuck here,” Draco insisted. “Every curse has a counter-curse, just as every potion has an antidote. All we have to do is find it.”

“I don’t want to run into Ron,” Hermione admitted. “Much less run into him with your name tattooed across my arm and me on your arm and us, you know, together.”

“Might be fun,” Draco replied. “He is not your Ron, is he? He is here with someone else. Why not you, too?”

“What about Astoria?”

“I just hope she is happy,” he admitted. “Merlin knows I could not make her nearly as happy as she made me.”

“Right then,” Hermione said. She swallowed thickly and moved toward where Draco was perched in the armchair. She turned to face the opposite direction and pulled her left arm inside her t-shirt. She bunched it up around her neck and pulled down her left bra strap to reveal three tattoos congregated around her left shoulder blade.

“I know these,” Draco said. He stood up and made to put his hands on her shoulders but stopped himself. Instead he bent closer to inspect the runes. Hermione made a contented noise when she felt his breath hot on her shoulder.

“Elhaz and the Helm of Awe. Granger, these are protection runes.”

“Like you said before, you can’t guard both your back and your front.” She swallowed hard and whispered, “The war never really left, you know?”

“Yes, that I know,” Draco agreed. “This one, though, Uruz? What is that, transformation?”

“New beginnings,” she corrected. “That one, um, that one’s new.”

“Yes, well …” Draco stuttered and stepped away. “You can put your shirt back on; I do not believe we are at this point in our soulmate relationship.”

“You haven’t even bought me dinner,” Hermione quipped as she pulled her clothes back into place.

“I owe you one then,” Draco said. “You and me, dinner wherever you want.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed.

She went back to rifling through books. Draco silently watched her for awhile. Hermione found one book she thought may help, but Draco did not bother to ask what it was. She sat on the floor, Summoned a quill and parchment, then began to scribble notes. With the book balanced on one knee and parchment on the other, Hermione knocked over the bottle of ink near her foot, but Draco caught it with a spell before she noticed.

Draco stared at the cover of _Partnership: The History of Soulmates_ on the arm of his chair. Red cover, bright silver lettering, but that name! He couldn’t let it go. Draco stared at _Marina D. Love_ until the letters swirled together. That’s when the answer came into sharp focus.

“Granger!”

She didn’t look up.

“Hermione!”

“Yes!” She tucked some hair behind her ear and huffed, “What?”

“Parchment! I need ink, parchment, and a quill.”

Hermione made to get up, but Draco thought, _Fuck it_ , and walked over to sit next to her on the floor.

“Marina D. Love is a perfect name for someone who writes about soulmates, is it not?” he asked.

“Sure,” Granger said, unsure where Draco was leading her thoughts.

“Too perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

“You think it’s a pseudonym?”

“I know it is a pseudonym,” Draco countered.

“How?” Hermione asked.

“God, I knew it!” he said, frustrated. “It was right in front of my face. I should have figured this out hours ago.”

“Draco?!” Hermione asked.

She put her hand on his shoulder and he didn’t flinch. In fact, it settled him. Hermione’s fingers trailed down his arm a bit before she let go.

“What did you find?”

Draco grabbed the quill and wrote on the parchment:

**M A R I N A D L O V E**

“Now it is just a jumble of letters,” she observed. “Unless …”

“Mmmhmm …” Draco hummed. He could almost see the puzzle pieces coming together behind Hermione’s eyes. “Simply rearrange the letters and …”

**R  O  M  I  L  D  A  V  A  N  E**


	5. Technically True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Platonic flirting, Harry thinks they're banging, and Draco has a massive crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place entirely on June 7th, 2006.
> 
> TW: reference to violence  
> TW: hardcore creepiness

_Everything is black._

_Draco cannnot see anything and his heart is beating so quickly a Snitch would turn green with envy. He closes his eyes and opens them again but cannot tell the difference. He is standing, so he begins by moving his toes. Draco picks his feet up and bends his knees. He wiggles his fingers and twirls his wrists before nodding from side-to-side and popping his neck. Draco presses his shoulders back and listens to the joints crack along his spine. Everything can move and that is the most important thing._

_Draco steps forward and the temperature falls. He wobbles and shudders, but not from the cold. His heart stops and Draco holds his breath, hoping his stillness makes him invisible. Then it beats. It beats again and Draco allows himself one shaky breath._

_It gives him away._

_“Little Malfoy.”_

_The voice rings throughout Draco’s head but feels like it is whispered against his ear. There is only one person who ever dared to call him that. Hardly a person at all._

_“You are dead,” Draco whispers into the darkness. “This is all in my head.”_

_“Why should that mean it isn’t real?” the voice hissed._

_Draco feels the hem of a robe swish against his ankle as the voice says, “I have lived in the minds and souls of many people, Little Malfoy. Why not you?”_

_“Because y-you are dead,” Draco stutters into the black abyss in front of him. “I watched you die.”_

_"Did you?”_

_Draco swallows hard and confidently says, “Yes.”_

_He feels a large snake slither across the tops of his shoes and he stumbles backward._

_“But I can touch you.”_

_Draco goes rigid. He feels the pad of one thin finger touch his hairline above his left eyebrow. It drags along slowly, tracing Draco’s face then down his jaw and onto his chin. A tear escapes from the corner of Draco’s eye, but he is frozen, unable to wipe it away._

_“Please stop.”_

_The Dark Lord trails his finger across Draco’s throat and asks, “Or what?”_

_“Please,” Draco begs again. The darkness is suffocating. He sees nothing but feels every part of the Dark Lord in the spaces around him. At his left shoulder then his right, stalking Draco like captured prey. Breath hot against his ear, cloak enveloping Draco’s right side, long fingers wrapping over his shoulder in a way that makes Draco’s intestines tie a tight bow around his stomach. The Dark Lord only ever touched him because it made Draco uncomfortable and reminded his family how powerless they were against him._

_It is so cold that Draco no longer feels his toes. The Dark Lord walks closely behind him and Nagini hisses._

_“Please don’t,” Draco begs. He knows what is coming. He is terrified because he watched this happen to Professor Burbage. Watched as she was bitten, bitten again, then ripped apart at the throat. Draco left that room with his professor’s blood spatter drying between his knuckles._

_The Dark Lord hisses, “Nagini …”_

_And Draco tries to run but his feet will not move. His heart beats so frantically the sound almost drowns out the Dark Lord introducing him as,_

_“… dinner.”_

_The snake slithers over and coils around Draco’s ankle. He knows the bite won’t happen yet; Nagini likes to play with her food. Once it reaches his knee, Draco loses his social graces and shouts,_

_“Please let me go! I do not want—”_

_“Draco!”_

_That is not His voice. Draco goes rigid, but Nagini does not stop slithering up his thigh._

_“Draco!”_

_He hears that voice again as the snake wraps around his torso._

_“DRACO!”_

**.oOo.**

He opened his eyes to see Hermione Granger’s face far too close to his own. Large, worried brown eyes staring down at him. He blinked and asked,

“Where am I?”

“My guest bedroom,” Granger replied. She was straddling his torso with her hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Why ‘m I ‘n your house?” Draco mumbled. There were hazy memories at the back of his mind but nothing was able to work its way up front. God, he was drenched in a cold, disgusting sweat. “Why’re you even talking to me?”

“Because we are in this together, babe.”

She sighed heavily and it brought her further down on top of him for a moment. Draco thought his crush on her subsided years ago, but this very position had featured in some of his fantasies. Then everything from the previous day flooded back.

_Babe._

_Love._

“Oh, God,” Draco grumbled, realizing how he must have looked when she found him. “So sorry. This happens sometimes.”

“You were shouting ‘please stop,’ and I thought someone had broken in,” Hermione said.

Draco dismissed it as, “Just a nightmare. What time is it?” he asked.

“A bit after six,” Granger replied.

Draco yawned and said, “There is no getting back to sleep for me after that.”

“Me either,” Hermione admitted. “You sounded like you were dying.”

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He looked up at her and asked,

“Why are you on top of me?”

“Because you nearly threw yourself off the bed!” she insisted. “I was trying to—”

“Much appreciated,” Draco cut her off, “but your tits are in my face and we are about thirty seconds away from a very embarrassing situation for both of us.”

Hermione jumped off the bed and said, “Fine, then. I strategize best over breakfast anyway.”

“You would be a morning person,” Draco grumbled. He threw the blanket off and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed one of the sheets off the floor and wrapped it around his shoulders to quell the chill. Draco rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, still shaking a bit from his dream. Though, part of that might also have been from feeling Hermione pressed against him. He shook the thought from his head and stood up on unsteady legs.  

Draco slowly made his way to the guest bathroom, found an unopened toothbrush, and rid himself of morning breath. He looked at his reflection and groaned. His hair stuck up in approximately seventeen different directions and his eyes had the hooded, still-halfway-in-my-dream look. He chuckled darkly as he realized his head was already so fucked-up that not even an interdimensional curse could make it worse. By the time he made it to Granger’s dining area she had two plates of eggs and bacon set out on the table. Her nose was literally in a book, and she said without looking up,

“Didn’t know what you drink. There’s coffee, juice, tea, Firewhisky, or water.”

He found a glass and filled it with water from the tap and briefly wondered who would drink Firewhisky for breakfast. He sat in the chair across from Hermione and pushed some of the eggs around on the plate. She glanced up then back down at her book.

“D’you not like eggs?”

“I am not particularly hungry,” Draco said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have to go home today,” he admitted. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Draco worked his way back to full consciousness. He bit off some bacon then tossed the rest on his plate.

“You can stay,” Hermione said. She looked up from her book and said, “We’re soulmates anyway, wouldn’t it be strange if we lived apart? Take the guest room and it will be more convenient for both of us.”

Draco smiled and teased, “Are you asking me to move in, _love_?”

“Yes, _babe_ , I think I am.” Hermione laughed and placed her book on the far edge of the table. “Now, I’ve given it some thought and we have to target each of the committee members individually. Justin, Ernie, and Percy are all hard yes votes, which leaves us with six members up for grabs. We have to flip five of them, and—”

“Angelica is already on our side,” Draco interjected.

“Then we turn four of the remaining five. Rowan Khanna is a friend, so I will get him to vote no.”

Draco stole one of her stray pieces of parchment then leaned over the table to grab a quill and inkpot. He wrote **YES** on one side of the parchment and put three tally marks beneath it. The second column was **NO** and Draco put two lines beneath it. Hermione continued,

“Next up is Penny Haywood and I know nothing about her, so mark her down as undecided.”

Draco added a third column: **?** He wrote Penny’s name underneath.

“Chiara Lobosca is a yes, and I doubt you will have to make an argument to her,” Hermione revealed. “She is well-versed in people trying to pass laws about who is and is not worthy of love.”

“Why is that?”

“She likes her steak bloody,” Hermione answered.

“Ah,” Draco murmured in recognition. He made another tally under **YES**. “What about Gabriel Truman? He was a few years ahead of us at Hogwarts and I do not know him well.”

“Me either,” Hermione conceded. “Write him down as undecided.”

Draco made the tally as the front door opened. He heard it shut and tossed the bedsheet on the floor as he instinctively looked around for his wand. He was relieved to hear Potter’s voice filter in from the entryway.

“Hermione?! Are you decent?”

“Yes!” she shouted back through a mouthful of eggs.

Draco quickly scribbled a note on his parchment.

_Do we tell him the truth?_

Hermione read it upside-down, plucked the quill from Draco’s hand, and circled the **NO** column just as Potter meandered into the living area. He did a double-take when he caught sight of Draco, who realized this must look rather domestic to anyone who didn’t know the fast-paced hell of their past twenty-four hours. He and Hermione were strategizing a plan over breakfast, still in their pyjamas. Their names on each other’s arms were prominently displayed and Draco’s hair was mussed like Hermione had run her fingers through it. All implications doubled when he noticed the discarded sheet on the floor. Harry Potter’s expression was priceless.

“Oh my God, you’re really together.”

“Apologies, Potter, if I had known you were coming over I would have made myself presentable.” Draco sipped his water as Potter glared at him. It was several seconds before he finally stopped glowering and turned his attention to Hermione.

“I didn’t even know he liked you.”

Draco was surprised by Potter’s statement because every one of Draco’s friends knew about his crush on Hermione, but it never amounted to anything. It was stupid, silly, impossible ... And admittedly there were times he wanted it more than anything. At the end of the day it had always been a childish fantasy, never to be acted upon.

“I, erm, I was just stopping by on my way to work to make sure everything is alright. So sorry the Ministry security guards kept you down there; I will have all the processes reviewed. I don’t have more authority than that, but it will not happen to anyone else.” Potter took a deep breath and asked, “Did … Did Malfoy stay the night?”

“Yes,” Hermione said with a shrug. “We were doing soulmate things.”

Technically true.

“And we would still be in bed except Granger couldn’t keep herself off me this morning,” Draco teased.

Potter gagged at the implication. Draco shrugged because, again, it was technically true. Sitting there, with Hermione’s foot bouncing absentmindedly against his leg, Draco realized he hadn’t properly looked at Harry Potter in years. He held firmly to the opposite side of the room when they ran into each other at parties. At the Ministry, he gave Potter a cursory nod and nothing more. This time Draco saw him unfiltered. Potter was exhausted, and after putting the entire Wizarding world on his shoulders for fifteen years Draco figured he had the right to be. He asked Hermione,

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

Draco looked at her, anxious to hear the answer. She could be honest and say no or she could lie and say yes. But, as he kept learning, Hermione Granger always found a way to make truth out of lies.

“Does it matter?” she asked. “He is my soulmate and has the best chance at making me happy. Isn’t that how this works? He can be better—he is better. He is good-looking and I trust him to do his best to make me happy.”

Draco blushed when she said he was attractive. Goddamn, that crush hadn’t disappeared so much as it had been lying in wait. Potter turned a rather garish shade of puce.

“What are you working on?”

“Wizengamot Bill 8725,” Draco answered. “Marriage ban.”

“Bloody hell! I thought that died last year.”

“Justin and Ernie are upset with Draco,” Hermione said. “And I am fairly certain they are being pressured from someone high-up at the Ministry, but haven’t the faintest idea who it might be. We think the next-best thing is to flip the other members individually.”

Potter hadn’t been listening. Instead he looked at Draco then turned back toward Hermione.

“Do you plan to marry him?”

Granger turned back to her eggs and pushed them around the plate with her fork. Hermione had run out of improvisations and ways to manipulate the truth, or perhaps she just couldn’t stand lying to her best friend. Either, way, Draco figured it was his time to step up.

“Not that it is your business,” he snapped, “but we have not spoken about it. Our relationship is barely a month old, I relapsed a month ago, and we did not know how the sex would be. Fantastic, in case you are wondering.”

“I really wasn’t,” Potter said, his face scrunched in disgust. “Glad to hear you got yourself clean, though.”

Draco looked at Hermione and said, “I finally found a good reason to.”

**.oOo.**

They didn’t speak for awhile after that confrontation. Hermione did the dishes, turned up the radio, and did everything possible to distract from Draco’s presence. He leaned back in his chair and even fell into a brief nap before she turned everything off and said,

“I hated lying to him.”

Draco pointed out, “You did not have to.”

“He was already suspicious,” Hermione said. “I don’t think there is a single one of my friends who would believe me if I said we were from another universe.”

Draco said, “To be fair, I only have one who would believe us and she is insane on her best days.”

“So our only option is to live this life until we figure out how to get back. How do you propose we find Romilda Vane?”

“Blaise will know,” Draco said. “I will owl him and we should hear back by afternoon. Good enough?”

“Good enough,” Hermione agreed. “Do you want me to come with you to the manor?”

“NO!” Draco shouted. Good God, what a disaster that would be. He cleared his throat and began scribbling a note on some parchment. “No, I do not plan to tell them you are my soulmate. I just want to get some clothes and personal effects then leave.”

Hermione was quiet for awhile, so Draco finished his letter to Blaise and went to find an envelope. Her gaze had not shifted from that one spot on the table when he returned.

“Yesterday when Pansy said you had a crush on me, you did not contradict her.”

“No, I did not,” Draco confirmed. Sensing her unease he asked, “Were you serious about having me move in? I do not want to overwhelm you with my … you know …”

“Malfoy-ness?” Hermione offered.

“I was going to say general dickishness but I like yours better.”

Hermione laughed and said, “Yes, you should move in. I don’t know how long we will be here, but the longer we are here the more I start to believe there is a reason we were placed in this specific world. Merlin only knows how many other cursed dimensions there are, so why did we land in this one?”

“Hopefully Romilda will have the answer,” Draco replied. “Do you have an owl?”

**.oOo.**

Rather than walk all the way to Hermione’s office, Draco Apparated onto the steps of Malfoy Manor. He hated using the front door like he was some sort of visitor. The door opened moments after he knocked, a house-elf mumbling “Welcome home, Master,” and other things Draco didn’t bother listening to. What dull fucking creatures.

Draco walked past the elf without acknowledgement and made for his room. He conjured a large box and placed an Extending Charm on it before he tossed a few t-shirts inside. They were followed by lots of underwear and then pyjama bottoms, followed by robes, jeans, and anything else he might need. Draco took some soap, shampoo, and conditioner from his bathroom. He tossed in some pomade and at least five pairs of shoes.

Once he had enough stuff to constitute “moving in,” Draco closed the box and carried it downstairs under his arm. He left it on the sofa in the parlor before running down to the kitchens to grab a bottle of wine. Granger deserved at least that much for allowing him to intrude upon her house.

His mother was standing over his box when Draco returned to the parlor. She looked exactly the same, and there were few people like that in this cursed world. Pansy was happier, as was Blaise, but Potter seemed more tired and the MacMillan/Finch-Fletchley duo hated Draco more than usual. His mother, though, had her hair pulled back in a chignon, not a hair out of place. She wore a high-collared robe that Draco knew was completely open in the back, sky blue, with long sleeves. Draco spent twenty-six years wondering how his father convinced Narcissa to marry him and no reasonable answer had yet appeared.

“Where are you off to this time?” Narcissa asked.

Merlin’s fucking arse, she thought he was heading off on a binge. Draco could take it from Pansy. He could take it from Theo, from Blaise, and from any of his friends who had tried to support him through any of it. But Draco refused to be badgered by the people who put him in that position.

“Does it matter?” he snapped. He put the wine on an end table. “I do not want to be around you or father right now, so I am leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Please, Draco, just talk to me about this. I want to help.”

“What would you do?” Draco asked. “What the hell could you possibly do?”

“Whatever you need me to do!” his mother insisted.

“I needed you to be there for me during my trial,” Draco admitted. “But you and father were too busy trying to bribe my way out of it! And when that did not work, you threatened people. While that was going on, I had no one to turn to even though I was terrified out of my bloody mind. Is it really all that surprising I ended up at Millicent’s? Without Harry Potter I would be on my ass in a cell in Azkaban!”

“And we are very grateful to him,” Narcissa replied. “I do not want you to feel like we do not love you, my son, even though you continue to make poor choices.”

“Well I had some great fucking teachers in that regard, didn’t I?!” Draco snapped back.

“Do not curse at your mother, Draco!” his father shouted from the doorway.

Great. Just what he needed: a complete family intervention. He half-expected them to get the elves involved. What next, the portraits shouting supportive platitudes from their frames? Then Narcissa surveyed her son up and down. She smiled softly and asked,

“How long?”

“A month,” Draco answered. That was the timeline he and Hermione established, and Draco intended to stick to it.

“What am I missing?” Lucius asked. And if that wasn’t the most Lucius Malfoy thing in the world. _Fuck off,_ was on the tip of Draco’s tongue, but he swallowed it as he intended to still be alive when he left the manor.

“Lucius, I think it best you retreat to your study. I want some time alone with our son.”

“Fine by me,” his father said, happy to be rid of the situation. He turned on his heel and made for the stairs. Typical Lucius Malfoy; when it came to the difficult parts of parenthood he always disappeared.

Once he was out of earshot, Narcissa came to stand less than an arm’s length from her son. She tapped her fingers against Draco’s left forearm and asked,

“One month ago?”

Draco nodded.

“All these years you claimed to be hiding a name behind a glamour, you never had anything to hide.”

Another nod.

“She is the reason you stopped the Moonseed?” Narcissa asked. “I know about the Angel’s Trumpet and the Faerie Dust—”

“Pixie Dust,” Draco corrected. “Pixie dust has to be rolled then smoked, but you can snort Faerie dust right off the table.”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment and admitted, “The elves used to tell me about the charred bits of the _Prophet_ they found in your room. I convinced myself it was nothing, and I am sorry. You are right that I failed you. I should have made it clear that you can depend on us as your family.” His mother’s fingers tightened around his arm. “Is it the Granger girl?”

Draco did not know how to answer. Yes, of course, but there were so many different ways to say it.

_Yes, but I wish it wasn’t._

_Yes, but I never chose this._

_Yes, and I plan to use it to my advantage._

None of those felt right, so Draco shrugged off his robe and unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirtsleeve. He rolled it up to the crook of his elbow and Narcissa ran her fingertips across the name. Draco trembled and balled his hand into a fist--was Pansy good enough to fool his mother? She tilted his arm the slightest bit and Draco saw the letters gleam purple at the edges.

“And your name is on hers as well?”

“Yes.” Draco nodded. He smiled a bit and said, “They appeared at the same time.”

Technically true.

“Well, this is excellent news,” Narcissa said as she dropped his arm. Draco was surprised she did not object. “Has Miss Granger agreed to be your partner in this? Or would she rather continue to pretend—”

“We are together in this,” Draco confirmed. “I go as she goes.”

“Does this change in circumstances make you happy?” his mother asked.

“I think it will,” Draco admitted. “Right now it is only us getting to know each other. She is embarrassingly far out of my league, but Malfoy men do have a tradition of marrying up.”

His mother smiled and agreed, “Yes, they do. Do you plan to marry her?”

“If she will have me, eventually ... I would hope so.” Of course they would get married. That was their plan for this world. What was it Hermione said?

_If we can’t protect the people in our world right now, let’s at least fight to make something right in this one._

“That will make it difficult for the Wizengamot to approve the Reclassification of Matrimony if the Granger girl wishes to marry you. I suppose I can support this change in circumstances. Do you wish to tell your father?”

“Not particularly,” Draco admitted. “I suppose I have to.”

“I will tell him,” Narcissa offered. “He may prefer it coming from me.”

“Thank you.”

Narcissa placed her hand on top of the box and asked, “Where are you going?”

“Hermione’s house,” Draco replied.

“Interesting that you refer to it as a house and not a home,” his mother observed. “Is the manor not good enough for her?”

“Considering what happened to her here, I would say not.”

“Accommodations can be made.”

“Hermione gets to choose where she lives, mother. I will not deny her that choice,” Draco insisted. And he wouldn’t. Not if they were only there a week or, Merlin forbid, even months.

“Fine,” Narcissa acquiesced. “If this is what you want, I will support you. Is that what you need from me?”

Draco nodded and it was too easy. Far too goddamn easy. Draco asked,

“If Hermione was not the only way to save your marriage, would you still support my decision?”

His mother considered the question for a full minute. Draco stood there in awkward silence, bouncing his weight from foot to foot, just waiting. She finally settled on,

“Yes, I believe I would.”


	6. That D Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romilda Vane gives Draco and Hermione more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 7th, 2006.

> _ Wiggentree Hotel—ask for the person in charge of room service. _

Draco crumpled Blaise's note in his hand. He knew enough dirty, desperate people to understand the business Romilda Vane had involved herself in.

“Was it strange seeing your parents here?” Hermione asked.

Draco kept pulling clothes out of the box and handing them to Hermione, who hung them in the closet.

“No,” he answered. “We may not have soulmates in our world, but my parents are very close to it. They are hardly different at all.”

“Did you tell them about me?”

“My mother knew,” Draco admitted. “Took her maybe two minutes to figure me out. When it comes to you, Granger, I am not a complicated man.”

“I disagree,” she quipped. “I find you very perplexing.”

Draco laughed. Hermione prattled on about their committee strategy as they finished putting the hangable clothes in the closet, and Draco hardly said a word. Astoria was never much of a conversationalist but Hermione could outpace anyone if she was on the right topic. Draco began the folding and helped with that as well, careful not to crease the shirts.

“I have been thinking …” Hermione began.

“When are you not?”

She opened her mouth like she had something to say, but thought better of it as her face went bright red. Draco grinned. He knew exactly what she had been about to say. Granger crossed her arms and asked,

“What happened between you and Greengrass?”

Draco walked out of the room then to the kitchen, pretending he had not heard the question. Ever the annoying one, Hermione followed him and asked again.

“What happened?”

Draco grabbed a glass and filled it with water before asking, “What gives you the right to know?”

“People believe we are dating and this seems like something your girlfriend should know.”

Liar. Draco’s mouth suddenly felt dry and chalky. Granger was curious and wanted to level the playing field. He hadn’t spoke about the breakup, and his friends accepted that he did not intend to do so. Hermione noted his hesitance and her resolve faltered.

“You don’t have to tell me, I understand—”

“You and Weasley, you said it ended slowly?” Draco asked.

Hermione nodded.

“It was just the opposite with us. Astoria is the kindest, gentlest person I have ever met and she will make a great mother one day. I did not deserve her, but …”

“But?”

“I felt like she was settling,” Draco admitted. “I am better than that. We wanted it to work, made concessions, and tried to be what each other needed to be. Just like what I read in Romilda’s soulmate book. I could not trap Astoria in a relationship or a marriage when we both wanted other things. She asked to move in, I said no, and she ended it the next day.”

“I get the feeling there is something you’re not telling me,” Hermione prodded.

Draco took a long sip of his water then swirled the remnants around in the glass.

“I don’t need a soulmate, Hermione. I love Astoria and she is the closest I will ever get. That is all you need to know.”

Hermione did not react except to tap her fingers against the table.

“What sort of name is Greengrass anyway?” she asked. “Might as well have married Astoria Purpleplum.” Draco laughed and Hermione kept going. “Yellowlemon. Browntree.”

“Redrose,” Draco offered, half-heartedly.

“Exactly.”

**.oOo.**

The Wiggentree Hotel was a breathtaking, tan-coloured building in Ravenswood. The exterior was dotted with small balconies and red flowers poured over the rails. The inside was of a similar colour scheme, and pillars had clear vases attached so tall flowers spilled out around eye-level. Draco stayed at this hotel on a number of binges because it was close enough to Wiltshire in case there was a true emergency, but far enough away that he would not run into anyone important.

He took Hermione’s hand and walked up to the front desk. In a world where everything was so terribly unfamiliar, Hermione Granger was the only thing that felt like home. The receptionist was in her late sixties, and looked to be exactly the person he was looking for.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

“Good afternoon,” she responded curtly. “How may I help you?”

Draco did as Blaise suggested and said, “I need to speak with whomever is in charge of room service.”

The desk agent looked from Draco to Hermione, then back with raised eyebrows.

“For the both of you?” she asked.

Draco put on a smile and said, “I like to watch.”

“For the love of Merlin, say no more,” the agent said. She went into the back room and Hermione turned to glower at Draco.

“What the hell are we doing here?”

Draco sighed and admitted, “It appears I am not the only person in this world who ended up miserable because of these names.”

“Are we soliciting Romilda Vane?” she asked.

“Yes, we are,” Draco answered. He looked over at Hermione and rolled his eyes at her shocked expression. “There will be no shagging. Not unless _you_ like to watch.”

Hermione huffed and said, “No, thank you.”

“You always have been more of a _hands-on_ learner, anyway,” Draco teased.

Hermione flushed and it was so easy to get her riled up. He had, regrettably, always excelled at it.

The desk agent returned with Parvati Patil close behind and the look of betrayal on Hermione’s face was a bit much. Parvati’s hair was pulled back in its usual plait and she wore flowing orange robes that Draco knew cost more than a few Galleons. Parvati shot one glance at Hermione then spoke directly to Draco.

“I hear you are interested in dining with us this evening?”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed.

“We have a ten-Galleon menu fee, which will be credited toward anything you choose to purchase.”

“Ten Galleons?!” Draco asked, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “What sort of food do you have back there, exactly?”

“Only the best, Draco,” she answered. “Only the best.” He understood, then, that she didn’t like this any more than Hermione.

“We do not need to peruse the menu, Hermione and I are fairly specific in what we want.”

“Are you together?” Parvati asked.

“Yes,” Draco answered, “we are purchasing together.”

“But are you _together_?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Draco answered again. “Why?”

Parvati smiled and said, “Because now Padma owes me seven Sickles. It would be best if you could tell me your budget and—"

“Parvati,” Draco scolded, “when have you ever known me to have a budget?”

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “What are you looking for?”

“Romilda Vane,” Hermione answered.

Draco bit down on his bottom lip and sighed. There were reasons they spoke in metaphors, and one very obvious reason Romilda Vane used a pseudonym. Parvati looked suspicious, so he tried to salvage the situation.

“She means we would prefer to have someone her height, dark hair, wicked mouth, you know the sort.” Hermione began to say something but Draco elbowed her in the ribs. She winced and Draco said, “You’ll have to excuse her. She is having second thoughts. Nerves.”

“Hermione doesn’t get nervous,” Parvati said. “I don’t know what you want with _Marina_ , but—”

“Yes!” Draco shouted. “Of course, Marina is the one we came to see. Three hours should do the trick, what is her rate these days?”

“It depends on what you want,” Parvati said. “Minimum fifty Galleons an hour.”

“Fifty Galleons an _hour?!_ ” Draco exclaimed. “Is she hiding a Dragon in her knickers?”

“If that’s what you want,” Parvati snapped back.

“We want dinner,” Draco said.

“Come on, Draco," Parvati pleaded with him. "I don't like this any more than you do, but you have to be more specific with the metaphor.”

“We want to take her to dinner,” Draco specified. “Nothing more. At a restaurant of our choosing, one hundred fifty Galleons, three hours, I will have her back by curfew, mum.”

“You are such a bastard,” Parvati said with little malice behind her words. “You will have to wait; she has another two hours with her current client.”

He walked around the desk then placed thirty additional Galleons into Parvati’s pocket. Draco leaned in to whisper in Parvati’s ear.

“Hermione and I are in a bit of a rush. I do not care if you have to personally pull her off someone’s dick, I want her now.”

Parvati did not even blink. She went into the same hallway she appeared from and disappeared just as quickly.

Draco walked back around the desk to grab Hermione’s hand once again. It was strange touching someone who wasn't Astoria. Strange, but not wholly unpleasant. He led her over to the maroon armchairs in the waiting area.

“You, Granger, have all the subtlety of a dungbomb.”

“Sorry, I’m not a professional when it comes to soliciting prostitutes! What did you say to her?”

“I said I am tired of waiting.”

If Hermione could discern the half-truth, she didn’t call him on it. They waited in silence for several minutes, Hermione’s foot moving side to side in time with the soothing lobby music as they leaned back in the comfy chairs. Draco briefly thought about how nice it would be for Hermione’s house to have some more chairs like these.

“Astoria Browncoffee,” Draco said. That seemed to open the conversational floodgates.

“I can’t believe Parvati would resort to this,” Hermione huffed. “She is a ... I don’t even know the word.”

“Proprietor of unique, valuable assets,” Draco offered. He asked, “Why do you believe you have the right to judge her? She clearly hates doing this.”

“I don’t lead a prostitution ring!” Hermione whispered.

“How long did they keep you in that Ministry holding cell?” Draco asked.

“Three days.”

“Exactly. You, Hermione Granger, were tossed in a cell and left to rot! What do you think happens to people without soulmates who aren’t world-renowned war heroes?”

She paused and admitted, “I don’t think I want to know.”

“At the very least I assume they cannot get jobs,” Draco said. “I would guess Parvati is trying to make sure people like Romilda have a way to make money as safely as possible. By the looks of this place, they could be dealing with far shadier clientele.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Hermione quipped.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there is a lot in this world that is not right.”

**.oOo.**

Romilda Vane appeared fifteen minutes later. Draco and Hermione were sitting on the opposite side of the lobby, but there was no missing her. She wore low-cut, pale pink robes that had a long slit on the left side. Draco leapt up and walked over to greet her, but Romilda met him halfway.

“Fifty up-front, a hundred after,” she said, hand proffered.

Draco rolled his eyes and dropped a coin purse with all the Galleons into her hand. Romilda’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline but she pocketed the money without question.

“We are going to dinner,” Draco said. “Hermione have questions.”

“About what?”

“ _Partnership_ ,” Hermione answered.

“Shut up!” Romilda hissed. Her eyes darted around the lobby, mentally noting everyone who might have heard. She tucked some hair behind one ear and said, “Take me somewhere nice, but loud enough where no one will hear.”

Draco knew just the place. _Syrup_ was Byron Miller’s restaurant. Originally named _Syrup of Hellebore_ , it was the nicest place in Ravenswood. He and Hermione were underdressed even for the lunch hour, but it turned out there were still perks to being Draco Malfoy. Namely that no one was willing to deny him entry to a restaurant for fear he would blow their head off.

The host greeted him with, “Good afternoon, sir,” and they were promptly shown to a table right in the middle of everyone. Perfect for being seen without being heard. They ordered and Romilda’s first question was,

“Are you going to tell me who this is, Granger, or should I guess?”

Hermione managed to frown with her whole face.

“Apologies, I don’t understand the question.”

Romilda rolled her eyes and said, “This is not Draco Malfoy, obviously. This one doesn’t look like he has been all lit up in months.”

Hermione looked to Draco, because apparently he was the Romilda Vane expert. Or, perhaps Granger was less charitable than that and he was the expert on dealing with prostitutes. He would put money on the latter. Draco shrugged and said,

“Hermione and I are from another world; one without soulmates. She arrived four days ago and I woke up in this world yesterday. We have no idea why and we were hoping you could tell us. Perhaps even help us find a way home.”

Romilda laughed and said, “I’ll admit, I haven’t heard that one before. So, really, what’s going on?”

Hermione replied, “We want to go home,” slowly enunciating each syllable as though it was its own sentence. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down Draco’s spine. He forgot how terrifying she was sometimes, how red sparks would slide down her curls when she was angry. Romilda straightened up immediately.

“Oh, Merlin, you’re serious?” she asked, but continued without waiting for confirmation. “Well, right, you want to know about the book. I wrote _Partnership_ because I don’t have a soulmate name,” Romilda revealed. “I’m a Half-blood raised in the Muggle world, you know, so it was never important to me. But I was also fascinated by it. How could I not be? What part of us does it tap into? I had so many questions.”

“Why would someone rip out the pages?” Hermione asked.

“You ripped them out.”

“Excuse me?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you?” Romilda asked. “My book was banned from publication. Seven of the ten original copies were found and destroyed by the Ministry. I have one copy hidden away in a Gringotts vault, which I won’t open for anyone, so don’t even think about it.”

Draco was very much thinking about it.

“The second is over in MACUSA headquarters under ten different protection spells. This is a European phenomenon, so they could not give less of a fuck.”

“And the third is mine,” Hermione realized aloud.

“That chapter was the only one that mattered to you. You tore out the pages and said you put them in ‘the last place anyone would think to look.’”

“Then we may never find it,” she groaned.

“Not that it matters. Do you really think whatever is in my book is the reason you’re here?” Romilda asked.

“We were hoping as much,” Draco admitted.

Romilda laughed.

“Right. You woke up in a world where everyone is meant to have a match, and you just happen to be here with another person? D’you think perhaps the universe is trying to tell you something?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Not really,” Hermione admitted.

“Do you want me to spell it out for you?” Romilda asked. She leaned forward, put her elbows on the table, and said, “You two need to fuck already.”

Hermione laughed and Draco grinned. Romilda had not expected that reaction.

“What? Are you already shagging?”

“No, just … the idea of it …” Hermione trailed off into giggles. “It’s a bit ridiculous.”

“She keeps saying that,” Draco countered, still unable to hide his smile. “My ego is fragile, Granger.”

“Oh, please, the only thing stronger than your ego is your attachment to wizard’s sculpting gel.”

That was a fair insult. Romilda looked between the two of them with an exasperated expression. She threw her hands in the air and looked up toward the heavens.

Hermione asked, “How did you end up in your … profession?”

Romilda shrugged.

“How does anyone end up like this? The world turned its back on me. During the first war, people couldn’t tell who the enemy was. They used to say ‘nameless arms make for untrustworthy hands.’ That was the world they created for their kids, so all anyone in power knows now is that blank arms mean threat.”

Which explained why Percy Weasley was so terrified at the Ministry meeting. Why they would put Hermione bloody Granger in a holding cell forever rather than try to assess her threat level. There had been moments over the past day when Draco thought the tattoo idea was a bit overkill; he was prone to melodrama, after all. But the more he learned about this world, the more Draco thought he and Hermione would be better off fleeing to America.

“A few years after I graduated, I ran out of options,” Romilda continued. “My mother couldn’t support me anymore and I wound up on the dodgy side of Knockturn Alley.”

“There’s a non-dodgy side?” Hermione whispered.

“The Patil twins are some of the smartest witches in the country and many of their friends don’t have names. Parvati created this business with about five of us and legal defense is provided by Padma. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I would rather do it at the Wiggentree than outside Borgin and Burke’s, you understand.”

“Wait, so I ... Help you?” Hermione asked.

“You look the other way,” Romilda corrected. “Names are stupid, anyhow. Soulmates have burnt edges, bruised egos, and broken hearts. It’s all about what you feel and what you are willing to do to feel that again.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Take Blaise and Dean,” Romilda said. “Blaise has never met anyone who doesn’t think he is the most beautiful person they have ever seen, but Dean didn’t care. He didn’t grow up with the tradition of soulmate names and thought Blaise was a pompous ass.”

“He is a bit,” Draco conceded, but Romilda continued to speak over him.

“When they first started dating, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that Blaise was settling, or that Blaise was only with him because of the name. Everyone has that question: if it wasn’t destined, would we put ourselves through this? That is why I am alright not having a name. Of course I want someone to love me! I just don’t want some ancient piece of magic telling me who it should be.”

“Seems reasonable to me,” Draco admitted.

“But Blaise seemed so happy,” Hermione insisted.

“Because Blaise and Dean will be perfect for each other in any universe,” Romilda countered. “The same cannot be said for you or me or Harry Potter or Ron Weasley and especially not for Draco.”

“My story never changes enough, does it?” he asked.

Romilda gave him a sad smile and shook her head.

“No, Draco, it doesn’t.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Hermione interjected. “I think that Malfoy is trying to do his best to help people and that should be good enough. I hate everything about this stupid universe and you have been remarkably unhelpful. I am going home.”

She stood up from the table and made for the front door, but Draco did not follow. He caught Romilda’s questioning look and said,

“I need a break.”

“From pining for her?” Romilda asked.

“From being around her,” Draco corrected. “I am not pining.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“No, it is not,” Draco insisted. “Granger and I cross paths occasionally at the Ministry or perhaps a party, but we hardly speak at all and I am in love with someone else.”

“Who?” Romilda asked.

“Astoria Greengrass,” Draco answered. What did he have to lose by being honest?

“Interesting …” Romilda trailed off. “She’s happy here.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Draco said. He felt like it was mostly true. “She was never truly happy with me. Or, she was, but I don’t know whether it was enough to outweigh everything else.”

“Were you happy?”

Draco thought about it then shook his head.

“It is difficult to be happy in a relationship when you know your girlfriend wants you to be something other than who you are.”

“Well, you just walked into a world where there is a hell of a lot of that,” Romilda said. “What does Hermione want you to be?”

“Out of her goddamn way, I expect.”

“Fair assessment,” Romilda admitted.

“You don’t really think Hermione and I are meant to be together, do you?” Draco asked. It was just a crush, wasn’t it? Something that would once again fade with time.

“Dunno,” Romilda replied. “The magic isn’t as precise as everyone wants to believe it is. Your choice is in your heart and the same goes for whomever you fall in love with. Hermione wants to make the world better and doesn’t need anyone else to do that.”

“She never has,” Draco added.

“Whomever she ends up with will be someone who can help her when she needs it and be out of the way when she doesn’t.”

Draco nodded. Their food came and they ate in silence, except for Romilda complimenting the food every time she tasted something new. When they were done Romilda asked,

“You have an hour left. What now?”

“Would you mind sitting here and talking to me about nothing?” Draco asked.

Romilda nodded and said, “So, this past March, I was nearly poisoned by the wife of the Danish Minister for Magic ...” She stayed another ninety minutes after the hour was up. She probably would have stayed longer if the maitre’d had not asked them to leave. She hugged Draco good-bye and he felt a mild sense of despair knowing there was nothing he could do for her in return. Draco waved his hand in a vague gesture as he said,

“Thanks for …”

She understood.

“You didn’t need to pay me to talk, you know. I would’ve told you everything, but the pages you are looking for don’t have the answers you need.”

“It was never going to be that easy,” Draco admitted. “But I have enough Galleons to pay and we did interrupt you. Keep the money and try to avoid shagging more men with vengeful wives.”

“Then I’d be out of a job,” Romilda teased. “But the chapter Hermine ripped out? It’s about choice. We all get to choose how we show people we love them.” She nodded to Draco’s left forearm and said, “By the looks of it, you and Hermione Granger made the same choice. What do you think that means?”

And she walked away before he could respond.

Draco didn’t want to return to Hermione’s white, barely-lived-in house, but neither could he bring himself to go back to the manor. This world had taken his home and his sense of self, so Hermione Granger was really all he had left. Draco knew exactly what she was doing right then. Granger would be in her makeshift library, seated on the floor in front of her chair, not in it. At least three books would be spread out on the floor in front of her, a quill stuck somewhere in her hair, and a roll of parchment balanced on one knee. Granger used to live like that in the Hogwarts library, and she hadn’t changed all that much.

So there was really only one place he could go.


	7. Make a Different Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Malfoy family curse. So, really, everything is Draco's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 7th and 8th, 2006.

 

“Where do you suppose the other you and the other me are right now?” Draco asked.

Hermione had been exactly where Draco knew she would be. Romilda’s book open in front of her, flanked by another tome on either side. The ink jar had spilled again and Draco made a mental note to clean it up after she went to sleep. It was worse walking into her house the second time. There was no history in those walls, no family to be found. She was in her pyjamas already, a pair of black bottoms and a Gryffindor hoodie big enough for her to hide in. She had the hood pulled up over her head, small curls poofing out from the sides. Draco was still in his jeans and robe when he asked,

“Do you think they are here, too?”

Hermione shook her head and said, “No. Harry said they had been looking for me for days, which means the other me was not around to be found. They must be in our world, taking our places.”

“Bloody hell! We have to get back before they muck up our lives!”

“To be fair, we have practically betrothed them to each other,” Hermione countered. “If anyone is doing the life-ruining, I expect it would be us.”

“You are the last person I would have expected to end up with, so I suppose you are correct,” Draco admitted.

Hermione’s head snapped up.

“Say that again,” she demanded.

“What?” Draco asked.

“The last person you would have expected to end up with!” Hermione shouted. She smiled and said, “God, you do have accidental moments of brilliance.”

“A compliment?” Draco asked. “Now I know we have been here too long.”

“Don’t you see?” Hermione asked, though it was quite apparent Draco did not, in fact, see. “Romilda Vane told us that I put the chapters in _the last place anyone would look_. What if I didn’t put the pages anywhere? What if I gave them to you?!”

Draco paused. If Hermione had given him the missing pages they had to be at Malfoy Manor. The one place nobody would ever think to look. Draco grimaced and said,

“Then I know exactly where they are.”

**.oOo.**

Draco had, on more than one occasion, snuck a date into the manor. The elves’ entrance was at the back of the house, and far more discreet than the front door. He instructed Hermione to follow him through the metre-high door and ignored her as she glared at the dismal living quarters. He thought they were rather nice compared to what most house-elves were privy to, but nothing was ever quite good enough for Hermione Granger. They popped out in the cellar and Draco led Hermione up the stairs, down a silent hallway, and cringed when the first painting spotted her.

“MUDBLOOD!”

“Goddamnit!” Draco whisper-shouted. He cursed his great-grandfather and said, “We have to make a run for it.” Before Hermione could respond, he took her hand and ran toward the library. Granger could hardly keep up but they reached the library in a minute with minimal interruptions. Draco slammed the doors shut and locked them. He sagged against them and motioned for Hermione to sit at one of the large wooden tables.

Hermione was not looking at him. She stared at the large shelves filled with books and manuscripts older than Hogwarts itself. The look on her face was as though the next six Christmases had come early.

“Can I ... Can I read some of this?” she asked.

Draco placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Hermione, if you get us out of here, I promise I will let you live in my library back home. Right now I need you to focus.”

She nodded and reined in her nerdgasm enough to follow Draco to the back of the library. He ran his hand along the wall for a few metres before he felt that familiar pull, magic straining against his fingertips just waiting to be used. He mumbled,

“I need something sharp ...”

“Why? Draco,” she asked, worried, “what are you doing?”

He pulled his wand from the pocket of his robe and placed the tip against his palm. He drew a line down the centre and muttered, “ _Secabis._ ” Hermione gasped as his hand split open and blood slowly poured from the wound.

“Malfoys,” he chuckled. “Obsessed with blood.”

Draco pressed his hand against that spot on the wall and a doorknob appeared beneath his fingers. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Draco pulled the door open to reveal one bookshelf nearly as old as the manor itself.

“Turns out, it does not matter which universe you are from, a Malfoy is a Malfoy.”

“Your family is so strange,” Hermione whispered, stepping closer to examine the books.

Draco spotted a thick folio of loose pages toward the bottom and grabbed them. He flipped through the first few and the heading at the top was: _Partnership: A History of Soulmates;_ and on the opposite pages, _“What if I Don’t Have a Soulmate?”_

“Found it!” Draco held up the folio, but Hermione was looking intently at a smaller, leather-bound journal. Without looking up she said,

“This is the one we need.”

“What?” Draco asked. “How do you know?”

Hermione held it up to reveal a piece of parchment stuck to the front. It read: 

> _This is the book you need._
> 
> _-Hermione_

“Because I said so.”

“I am beginning to think our doubles are smarter than we are,” Draco admitted.

“If they knew this was coming, why did they not prevent it in the first place?” Hermione quipped.

They moved to sit next to each other in the middle of a table, with _Partnership_ placed to the side. The door vanished soon after, closing them off to the rest of its contents. The leather journal in front of them looked to be at least four centuries old.

“This couldn’t have been your father’s,” Hermione observed.

“No,” Draco agreed, “why would you think it was?”

She held it up so Draco could see the name Lucius Malfoy embossed on the lower part of the cover. Draco mumbled some curse words under his breath.

“Not his biggest fan?”

“One of my great-grandfathers, Lucius Malfoy I. My father is Lucius Malfoy II. This one was born in 1530, if I remember correctly.”

Hermione flipped it open and said, “The first entry is dated 1556.”

Strange. Draco felt his fingertips go numb as the pieces began falling into place.

“What date in 1556?” he asked.

Hermione squinted at the page and replied, “November 7th.”

Draco ran a hand over his face and said, “His birthday was November 6th. He began this journal the day after his twenty-sixth birthday.”

Hermione read the pages aloud.

> _The circumstances in which I find myself are dismal. It seems the curse my father spoke of upon my twenty-fifth birthday was not a farce as I presumed, but a cold reality I must now face. It is by the grace of God that I am not alone. My dearest Bess is alongside me in this foreign place, one source of solace in a world with little sense._
> 
> _My father said every Malfoy man must find love and marry by the age of twenty-six, or risk leading a life not his own. I considered it a mere parable, him pushing me away from Bess and toward a woman of more suitable blood. She was the one whose fingers I trusted not to crush my heart, and I still believe that to be true. However, there are strange happenings in this world, things I believe may push Bess further away from me the longer we are here. I need to find a way home. There is danger around every corner, but some things are so familiar I can almost tempt myself into believing I belong here. That Bess and I both belong here._
> 
> _But there is always something to remind me I am wrong. My father’s warning was not a parable, because this life might be mine but it is foreign to my soul._

“Draco, when is your birthday?” Hermione asked. When he did not respond, she asked, “It’s June 5th, isn’t it? That is why you ended up here on Tuesday.”

“This is my fault,” Draco realized aloud. He looked heavenward and asked, “Merlin, will there ever be a day when I do not have to say those words? If I had just decided to marry Astoria like a good fucking Malfoy, I would be at home right now.”

“No, you would be miserable,” Hermione insisted, putting her hand on Draco’s shoulder. He did not shove her off. “We are in this together, babe, you know that. You thought you had the right person and so did I. We are exactly the same. The universe is telling us we were wrong, and we have to figure out how to make it right. Like we said the day you got here, I go as you go.”

Draco swallowed hard and repeated, “I go as you go.”

“Now if we can just find out who Bess was--”

“Queen Elizabeth I,” Draco answered. “You know your Muggle history enough to know who she is?”

Hermione’s mouth fell open a bit.

“Your thirteenth-great-grandfather was shagging Queen Elizabeth?!”

“It is a huge scandal for us, you know. Pureblood ideology had been dominating the family for over a century,” Draco said. “To have the Malfoy heir shagging and then engaged to a Muggle? The Malfoys told people it was just a quick shag, an adventure, nothing serious. Some people think she rejected him and he cursed her in retaliation.”

“But neither of those versions is true?” Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head and said, “They were in love. His father threatened to kill Elizabeth if they married, so the engagement was broken off. She never wed and he married the woman his father chose for him. One of the ...” Draco trailed off and chuckled darkly. “One of the Greengrasses.”

Draco grabbed the journal and started reading, desperate to prove that he was nothing like his father’s namesake. Draco would make a different choice. If he had love, he would fight for it. For the right love, he would fight against his own family. Lucius Malfoy I was just like Lucius Malfoy II, a pompous ass at the best of times and a coward at the rest. Hermione moved her chair closer to Draco’s and pulled the book from his grasp to lay it on the table.

“We are in this together, so we read together.”

**.oOo.**

Draco slowly blinked his eyes open as the first rays of sunlight filtered into the library. Had he been more awake, he would have jumped out of his skin when he saw his mother standing across the table. She didn’t look upset; she actually looked rather delighted. Draco’s cheek was resting against Hermione’s head, which was pressed against his shoulder as she used her hood for a pillow. His arm was wrapped around her back, Lucius Malfoy’s journal still open on the table in front of them. They must have made quite the domestic picture.

His mother smiled and asked, “Pleasant dreams, my son?”

 

Draco tightened his hold on Hermione, yawned, and admitted, “Very pleasant, indeed.” Though that was a lie. Draco hadn’t actually dreamed at all. Falling asleep in the manor next to Hermione Granger was a fantasy so strange that nothing could top it.

His mother asked, “Is there anything you two need?”

Draco shook his head and whispered, “Have you told Father?”

“He will see reason soon enough,” Narcissa said.

“Doubtful,” Draco countered mid-yawn.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Draco shook his head and he could no longer hold his eyes open. He drifted off just as his mother said,

“Perhaps next time the two of you will make it to a bed.”


	8. Love, Astoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your ex-girlfriend is your soulmate's ex-boyfriend's soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 8th and 9th, 2006.
> 
> TW: Drug use and reference to previous drug use.

 

Lucius Malfoy’s journal had few answers, and not the ones Draco and Hermione needed. Lucius and Elizabeth’s journey only lasted two weeks, but it was enough to convince them separation was the proper course. Neither believed their love was worth the risk. While it left a bitter taste in Draco’s mouth, he thought he could survive two weeks.

It was not the end, though. Lucius still secreted Bess away to distant locales far beyond the winds of Muggle and magical gossip when he could. Stolen moments, each treasured and prized until the next. However, their legacies remained separate, pure and loveless. A romance hidden from history; Draco wondered whether he was worth it. The centuries of Malfoys after Lucius I led right to him. If Lucius and Elizabeth had been together, Draco’s legacy would have been dust more than four hundred years before he was born.

Draco was jostled awake an hour later as Hermione woke up. She yawned and Draco laughed, so she playfully smacked his arm as he pulled away. Her hand lingered, but it was so brief Draco might have imagined it. She blinked a few times then asked,

“I don’t suppose if you slice your hand open again a door will appear with a hairbrush and toothpaste behind it?”

“Afraid not.”

“Right, well, I would like to go home then,” she said sleepily.

“Me too, Granger,” Draco said. “Me too.”

He took Hermione back to her house via Sidealong Apparition. They walked into the kitchen, Hermione with the folio tucked under her free arm and Lucius Malfoy’s journal in Draco’s unoccupied hand. Part of him felt wrong taking it away from the manor, but he had to be missing something hidden within those pages. Or maybe he just wanted to search them once more for a happy ending. Draco and Hermione made it all the way to the fridge before realizing their hands were still clasped together. They each laughed awkwardly and tried to play it off as they disentangled their fingers. Hermione stepped away and said,

“I have to ... um ... shower? Yeah, I need a shower.”

Draco opened the refrigerator and pulled out some orange juice. She was still standing there when he turned around.

“Are you expecting me to join you?” Draco asked.

“No!” she shouted. “No, I um—”

Draco pointed to her room and said, “Shower is that way.”

Hermione left, mumbling under her breath about how Draco was “a bloody prick.” He laughed and poured himself a glass of juice. The rest of the day passed in the same manner, the two of them dancing around each other and hurling playful insults across the room. Draco doodled on spare parchment as Hermione read the missing chapter of _Partnership_. She didn’t lift her eyes from it for hours, so Draco poured a glass of water which she took without looking up.

He took a shower later that evening and while it wasn’t luxurious, it was nice to have moments to himself. Draco pressed his forehead against the shower wall for a minute, thinking about how strange the day had been. Being around Hermione was surprisingly easy. When she was in the middle of work, Draco knew to leave her alone unless she asked for help, which she did in her own way. She would ask a rhetorical question that he would answer with a sarcastic comment which somehow led her down the right path. Or Hermione would get up and start flipping through books from her shelf until Draco asked what she needed to find. What their system lacked in efficiency it made up for in results.

Once he was finished, Draco stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He pulled on some trackies and a black t-shirt then ran his fingers through damp hair. Draco took a deep breath and made for the kitchen where Hermione was putting paper cartons on the table.

“Oh!” she said as he walked in. “I got some takeaway for dinner because I was distracted and forgot about the time. There’s chicken tikka, murg makhani, lamb jalfrezi, and basmati rice. Just grab what looks good and put it on a plate.”

Everything looked good, so Draco piled bits of it all on his plate as instructed. He asked,

“Did you find anything interesting in the pages?”

“No,” Hermione huffed. “Romilda— _Marina—_ just goes on and on about choice. Apparently lots of soulmates don’t make the best choices.”

“Pans and Blaise said they really had to work at it,” Draco added.

“I like to think my soulmate would be books,” Hermione teased. “Simple, unproblematic, and they’re never late for dinner.”

“I bet you’ve been reading books since before you could walk,” Draco said.

“Nearly,” Hermione admitted. “Come have a look, I have photos ...”

They ended up on the floor, backs against Hermione’s bed with a photo album on the floor in front of them. Draco’s stomach did a tiny flip when their knees knocked together, but he did his best to ignore it. He looked around her room since he hadn’t noticed much the first time. It was bland, like the rest of the house. There was a photo of the Golden Trio on her wall from a few years earlier and they looked genuinely happy. The only other photograph was on Hermione’s bedside table, her and Weasley laughing together on a sofa, with Hermione curled into his side like the very picture of domesticity.

God, she really was barmy over him.

“This is me at age four, I think,” she said, pulling Draco from his thoughts. She pointed at a small, still picture. “My mum took this one at the library.”

Draco ate some of the curry as she prattled along about her photos. She pointed to one of a small Hermione, maybe eight years old with the same bushy hair and wide eyes, holding up a medal.

“This is me at primary school after I won a contest to read the most books.”

“By how much?”

“Two dozen or so,” Hermione said, unimpressed. She flipped through a few more pages, a story behind every snapshot of her life up until age twelve.

“You have always been like this, haven’t you?” Draco said.

Hermione looked at him curiously and asked, “How do you mean?”

“This,” he said, “the knowitall who believes there is an answer to be found as long as you have the right book.”

“Well ... Yes, I suppose.”

“Do you get that from your parents?” Draco asked.

“No, they’re dentists.” At his blank look, Hermione clarified, “Muggle healers who specialize in teeth.”

“Seems a bit mundane.”

“You will have to meet them soon enough, I suppose.” She groaned. “God, we still have to explain this to your parents. Would you mind if we just moved continents instead?”

Draco smiled and said, “Now you are finally talking sense.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione went to work on Friday and Draco spent the day reading in her makeshift library. He bought some groceries and tidied up a bit since Merlin forbid Hermione Granger ever employed a house-elf. She was back around six, with just enough time to get ready for their “date” at the nightclub. The Silver Snitch had no cover charge for Hogwarts alumni every Friday, but Draco had never been.

His outfit was simple: white t-shirt, black jeans, and the nicest pair of black shoes that he was not concerned about people stepping on. Draco threw on the leather jacket he purchased from Blaise and did one final check in the mirror to make sure his hair looked good. He made his way to Hermione’s room, but found that the door was shut. He knocked and asked,

“Everything alright?”

“Yes,” came her tentative reply. “But I think my double is dating a bit more than I am, because this was not in my closet back home.”

She opened the door and Draco couldn’t help that his jaw dropped. She had pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and used some sort of pomade to get rid of the frizz. She had done her makeup, but good God, that paled in comparison to the outfit she chose. It was a black jumpsuit with small sleeves that came off her shoulders, leaving the entire upper part of her chest bare. It hugged her in all the right places and Draco’s heart stuttered. She wore heels that brought her closer to his height, and if the rest of the world wasn’t so goddamn awful Draco would think he was dreaming.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Hermione asked anxiously. She moved to close the door and said, “I should change.”

“Like hell!” Draco said, putting his foot between the door and its frame. Hermione pulled it wide open again so he said, “If we are going to do this, love, let’s have some fun. And you look gorgeous, so regardless of who Weasley brings tonight I clearly have the better date.”

She blushed.

“Right, then I suppose we should ...”

Hermione offered her hand and Draco accepted it, twining their fingers together. He felt the familiar tug of Sidealong and held his breath as his organs were squished together then spat out in the middle of a London alleyway. Draco scrunched his nose at the scent, but the man standing a few metres away was quick to motion them over. Hermione led the way and the guard waved his hand so a green door appeared along the alley wall. He opened it and said,

“Have a good time.”

Hermione dragged him inside without thanks, and Draco’s ears were assaulted by the latest Weird Sisters song. It was so loud that nothing could be heard without shouting, but twenty people turned to stare the moment they entered. The Weird Sisters were onstage at the back, playing for a crowd of a hundred people or so. The club lights were dim other than the bright blue strobes glancing off the walls. Before they could so much as move away, Dean Thomas made his way through the crowd.

“HERMIONE!” he shouted as he pulled her into a hug. “I am so happy you made it!” He let go and turned to look at Draco. “Blaise is upstairs at the bar. Follow me.”

Draco did not let go of Hermione’s hand. Everyone was looking at the pair of them and he was nervous as hell. He could hardly hear anything over the music, but Hermione looked to be enjoying herself, nodding her head to the beat. Draco took a shaky breath in and tried to do the same.

“DRACO!” a familiar voice shouted from the crowd. Bastien emerged moments later and hugged him tight. “God, it’s good to see you. Heard about that fiasco at the Ministry on Monday and ... Wait, Granger? What are you doing here?”

Hermione raised her left arm and the fingers of her right hand clutched even tighter to Draco’s. Bastien’s eyes went wide and then he smiled.

“You are one lucky bastard, Draco Malfoy, you know that?”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” he teased. “Hermione fell in love with my dashing good looks and charming personality.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, “It was his library.”

“Don’t lie, Granger, you think I am wonderful,” Draco countered with a smile.

“Only a little,” she shot back.

Draco took a chance and leaned down to kiss her cheek like he used to with Astoria. It was second nature, and he lingered for a moment because part of him wanted it to be real. Hermione looked over at him, momentarily surprised, but she did not seem to mind it. She squeezed Draco’s hand to wordlessly assure him it was fine, and he nodded back almost imperceptibly. They had to sell their relationship, and since everyone on the staircase was staring at them Draco presumed they had done enough.

Draco and Hermione followed Dean upstairs. Blaise greeted his husband with a smile and a quick snog before turning to face them. Blaise looked at Dean like he had hung the stars in the sky. Again, Draco wondered whether this soulmate rubbish was all that bad. If it could give someone like Blaise a love like Dean, perhaps there was some truth in it after all.

“You came!” Blaise shouted.

“Of course,” Draco said, “did you doubt I would?”

“Well you are hardly the most reliable person,” Blaise admitted.

That stung more than a little. If anything mattered to Draco, it was that people should depend on him. He could do little good in the world otherwise. Hermione sensed something was wrong and pulled him over to the railing.

“We are here to be seen, right?” she asked.

Draco nodded.

“Then let’s not talk to people,” Hermione said. “Tonight is for you and me, babe. A little fun in a world that isn’t ours.”

“Alright,” Draco agreed. “Let’s have fun, then.”

He and Hermione leaned against the railing and watched the Weird Sisters from a floor up. They were good from what Draco could tell, but he was not really listening to the music. He was acutely aware of every pair of eyes on them and every move Hermione made next to him. At some point he shuffled to stand behind Hermione so his front was flush against her back. They watched half the set in that position and Draco forgot for a moment that they were not, in fact, together.

When Potter came over to say hello, Draco wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist. He greeted Potter then tried to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Draco raised a teasing eyebrow then began trailing kisses down the side of Hermione’s neck. She laughed, well aware of his intentions, and Potter’s face turned a rather dreadful shade of puce. Then Weasley appeared over Potter’s shoulder and the mood soured. Draco felt Hermione tense immediately, and he felt rather protective. How could he simply show up and say, “Hi, ‘mione,” as though nothing had happened between them?

The fucking bastard looked at Draco and said, “Malfoy,” with as much forced civility as he could muster.

“Weasley,” Draco countered with equal disdain. He ran his hands along Hermione’s arms until she relaxed a bit.

“Harry told me you were together,” Weasley said, “but I had to see it to believe it.”

“Believe it,” Draco quipped back.

He grinned when Hermione raised her arm again to reveal Draco’s name. Every time she did it, his heart did a dance that bounced between too fast and a dead stop. Weasley shrugged, resigned to acceptance almost too quickly. Potter #2 came up just then and everything else was forgotten as Hermione broke away to hug Ginny. Draco made for the bar and Weasley followed. He ordered two Firewhiskies and offered the second to Draco, who declined. He could not risk getting drunk enough to reveal the reality of his relationship to Hermione. At his refusal, Ron said,

“‘s fine, I’m not exactly pleased to see you either. Much less now that you are Hermione’s bloody soulmate. No wonder the both of you kept it secret so long.”

“Yeah,” Draco said with a noncommittal shrug. The bartender placed the two mugs in front of them.

“Tori is around here somewhere, probably wants to say hello,” Weasley said as he reached for his Firewhisky.

“Who the hell is ...”

_Tori!_

Draco laughed sardonically as he saw the seven letters inked on Weasley’s forearm.

Right there on Ronald fucking Weasley’s arm was the name Draco had seen at the bottom of a dozen love letters. Handwriting he would never forget, not the way her ‘o’ and ‘v’ tended to squish together. She always signed off the same way. Please talk to me about what happens in your dreams when I’m not there. _Love, Astoria_. I wish you trusted me enough to talk to me when you’re in trouble. _Love, Astoria_. Draco, my darling, I cannot do this any longer. _Love, Astoria_.

Hermione returned and immediately recognized something was wrong. She looked up at Draco and asked,

“Is everything alright?”

“Wonderful,” Draco quipped, unable to keep disdain from coating his words. “I was just talking to Astoria’s soulmate.”

All the colour drained from Hermione’s face. She grabbed the Firewhisky from Ron’s hand and downed it all in one go. They both watched her, concerned for a moment before the clunk of glass against the bar shocked them back into reality.

“Yeah,” Weasley said. “Was really lucky to get someone to watch Rose for the night so we could have some time together. She's nearly four now!"

 

Weasley had a kid. Astoria had a kid. Draco pulled Hermione closer as he realized Weasley and Astoria had a child together. Of all the things the universe could have tossed at him, this was the one thing Draco could never have seen coming.

The rest of the world went blank. The thumping of the bass stilled against his chest. The bright lights were drained of their colour and he pushed Hermione away. Draco headed for the door without much care for whom he bumped along the way. He just needed out, needed to get away from Ronald fucking Weasley who always managed to have the life Draco wanted. He made it down the staircase and pushed people out of the way until he cleared a path to the exit. He flung open the door to the Silver Snitch and winced as it slammed shut behind him. Draco braced himself against the sudden chill and angry tears threatened to pour from his eyes. He kicked the wall and shouted,

“GODDAMN IT!”

The door opened again and Hermione walked out. There was a moment when she considered going back inside, and Draco wished she would so he could be alone in his pain. That was how he preferred it. Instead, Hermione wrapped her hand around his elbow and he wrenched it away.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!"

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“How could I be okay with this?!” Draco shouted, incapable of keeping his voice down. “How does Ronald fucking Weasley land these amazing women?!”

“Hah, a compliment,” Hermione teased. Draco noticed the watery buildup in the corners of her eyes and sobered for a moment.

“I feel like my soul has just been torn down the middle, Hermione,” he admitted. He crossed his arms around himself and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You aren’t the only person hurt by this,” she said. “But everything in Lucius’s journal was about pushing him and Elizabeth apart, and it is doing the same to us with the people we love. The universe is telling us we have been looking at the wrong people.”

“No!” Draco insisted. “This isn’t destiny, it is not a different universe, this is Hell!”

“Because I am the last person you would choose to be stuck with, right?!” Hermione challenged.

“No, the last person I want to be stuck with is in there with my girlfriend’s name on his arm!”

“Ex,” Hermione corrected him as she wiped her eyes.

“Sorry?”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

While that may have been true, what right did she have to stand there and say it?

“You know nothing about my life, Granger!” Draco shouted. “Nothing!”

“I know that all four days you have been here, you have been completely worthless!” she shouted back. “At least when you were arrogant you could be useful, but now you just stand about and mope. You hardly care about anything but yourself, Malfoy, and you have no capacity to move on!”

“Who are you to tell me to move on, Granger?!” Draco yelled in response. “You are still stuck caring about a relationship you didn’t even want! Too terrified to admit you and Weasley could never work together and now you are stuck in your own fucking regret.”

“The only thing I regret is ending up here with you!” she shouted. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. “I am so sorry, Draco, I didn’t mean—”

He turned and walked away.

**.oOo.**

The walk over was easy enough. Three blocks down Draco turned thisaway, thataway, then took the final right before he ended up at a nondescript terrace house. He had left Hermione nearly a half hour earlier, but Draco was so lost in his head that it felt like mere minutes. The door to Number 27 opened before Draco finished climbing the steps. He looked up at the host and sighed; some things never changed. Not a hair on her head was different from the last time he had seen her, a full universe away.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” Millicent asked.

She was still curiously large, big enough that Draco thought she might break him in half if given the opportunity. The world had not been kind to Millicent, so it was only fitting that she gave herself an escape from it. Then again, she got out of the world what she put into it. He wasn’t there to debate the morality of the magical drug trade, anyhow. Draco blew past her and she shrugged, indifferent. He walked into the living area to see three of his former classmates all in various stages of high. Mandy Brocklehurst was snorting Faerie Dust off the table as Wayne Hopkins sat in an armchair with a dopey grin on his face. Sophie Roper was in the corner of the room, balled up in the fetal position with her fingers clinging to a curtain.

“What do you want tonight?” Millicent asked, almost bored. “Moonseed or Angel’s Trumpet? Afraid I’m out of Pixie Dust, but got loads of Faerie Dust.”

Draco desperately wanted out of this world and Moonseed could take him away. Right then, it was the only calculation that mattered. Draco looked at Millicent’s sofa and it was very tempting. Those green cushions had seen him through a lot of highs and sitting down would be like falling into a warm bath. He’d vomited on them a time or two as well, which made the prospect a bit less inviting.

“Malfoy?” Millicent asked, but Draco waved her off.

He looked back at Sophie because he had seen that terror in the mirror more than once. The crash was the worst part with Moonseed; the more he used it, the more difficult it became to tell high from reality until it smacked him right in the face. Draco often ended up just the same, clinging to the curtains in his room at the Wiggentree when he crashed because it was the only thing he could reach from the corner.

He could forget about Ron Weasley and stop thinking about him shagging Astoria. Making a family with her, even! Draco could forget about his dependence on Hermione Granger for a moment. He leaned against the doorframe and thought about how nice it would feel to go back to a place where he was not universally despised. How could he say no?

Standing there, staring at Sophie’s terrified, nearly lifeless eyes, Draco realized this was exactly what Hermione had seen in him: moping about and feeling sorry for himself. He would end up just like Sophie, trembling as his sense of self was drained away shot by shot. What good would that do? He would end up just as Hermione said, just as Blaise said, of no good use to anyone.

“Malfoy,” Millicent said, “are you okay? D’you need something less potent? I’ve got loads of stuff to pick from.”

Draco shook his head, words thick in his throat as he said, “I can’t.”

“What?” she asked, stunned.

“I cannot be this person anymore, Millie. I need to be better than this.”

Millicent slammed the cabinet door shut and asked, “Why?!”

“Because someone needs me.”

“You came over just to tell me that?!” she shouted.

“I came over because I needed to see what I left behind.”

Draco walked out the door and Apparated back to Hampstead before Millicent could convince him to stay.


	9. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon to HGTV: Property Purebloods starring Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on June 9th and 10th, 2006.

Draco spent a good ten minutes in front of Hermione’s house, terrified of facing her. He ruined their one night of fun in this god-forsaken place. Draco imagined her scrutinizing gaze, asking where he'd gone off to. She had been perfect but the moment Astoria was mentioned Draco lost his mind like a lovesick teenager. He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket then jumped the steps two at a time, knocked, and waited.

Hermione opened the door holding a large bowl of popcorn in one arm. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she had only stopped crying to answer the door. Her hair was damp and the jumpsuit had been unceremoniously discarded in the hallway behind her. She was back in her Gryffindor hoodie and Draco immediately cursed himself for not considering her pain earlier. After all, she and Weasley were just as close as he was to Astoria and for nearly as long.

Draco looked at Hermione and said, “I apologize for being a mess. I should not have said those things to you, even if they are true. It is my fault that we are stuck here—”

Hermione walked forward and pressed her face into Draco’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and stood there for a full minute as her tears stained his t-shirt. It was nice to provide her some comfort, minimal as it seemed. A minute later, Hermione wiped her nose with the side of her hand and motioned for Draco to follow her inside. He pulled the door shut and found himself in the living area where pictures moved on that giant box she kept in front of the sofa. Hermione waved her hand to silence it before taking a seat at the far end.

“You were right,” she said.

Draco shrugged off his jacket and sat on the opposite end of the sofa.

“I was stuck on Ron. He said his child is four years old, so he has been with Astoria at least five years. My double has been living like this for five years! What sort of life is that?”

“You believe you were put here to see what life looks like if you do not look elsewhere for love,” Draco observed. “If I were to believe in this destiny nonsense, that would make sense. But I do not understand why I am here?”

“For the same reason,” Hermione answered. She thought about it for a moment then said, “I do not think you are worthless, Draco. I am sorry I said that to you.”

Those words shattered Draco’s resolve. He couldn't hold the tears back any longer, so he let his head fall into his hands.

“I didn’t think losing her would hurt worse the second time.” He sniffled. “And I keep wondering if I was not good enough for her in our world or in this one, is there any version of me that is?”

“If there is one thing I figured out today, babe, it’s that your value does not come from another person. Self-worth comes from within.”

“Easy for a brilliant war hero to say,” Draco quipped.

“I actually got it from Romilda’s book,” Hermione admitted. “But you did not lose her again, Draco. This Astoria was not yours to lose.”

“That is even worse,” Draco rushed out between choked-off sobs. He wiped his nose with the collar of his t-shirt. “Fuck! I had one chance and I ruined it.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Hermione assured him. But something in Draco’s heart told him that he should.

“I relapsed.”

Hermione scooted across the sofa and plopped down at his side. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said,

“You don’t seem high to me.”

“A month ago,” Draco clarified. He took a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself, then exhaled. “My nightmares got worse and nothing helped. I only went once, but ...”

“But you wanted to go back again,” Hermione guessed. She began to play absentmindedly  with the ends of Draco’s hair, and he didn’t stop her. Hermione’s fingers at the nape of his neck were oddly soothing. 

“That is why Astoria wanted to move to the manor,” he revealed. “But I did not want to be dependent on her. My life is not her responsibility, but she gave me the ultimatum: either she moved in or we were finished. I needed my space right then, you know?”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione agreed.

“And it ended, so now I am here and Ron Weasley is her soulmate? And I am no one’s?”

“You’re mine.”

Draco looked over at Hermione and laughed. Her face was all splotchy and he knew me must look the same. How had they ended up like this? Crying on her sofa, mourning their lost loves a universe away.

“Yeah, Hermione, I am yours.”

She smiled and said, “Maybe she secretly thinks you are a better shag than Ron anyway.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Draco teased. He looked down at his hands and admitted, “It is not just that; it’s that he got to do all the things I threw away. Getting down on one knee to propose to her. Marrying her, having a child and making a family with her ... If I had not been so stupid I could’ve had that.”

Hermione asked, “Would you have been happy?”

“I would have been happier than I am now,” he answered.

“But would there have been the thought of someone better?”

Draco nodded and said, “Probably.”

“Me too,” Hermione conceded. “So let’s move on together. Let’s find better.”

“You have a deal if you hand over that popcorn.”

She obliged and asked, “Where did you go after you left the club?”

“Millicent’s,” he admitted, tossing some popcorn into his mouth.

“Then how did you ...” She trailed off for a moment. “How did you stop yourself from going through with it again?”

“Honestly? The last time I turned to drugs it cost me the love of my life. I was afraid if I did it again I would lose you, too.”

Honesty and vulnerability were a dangerous cocktail. Draco glanced at Hermione’s lips and something changed. She moved a bit closer and Draco thought she just might press up against him enough for their lips to touch ... Then she diverted toward the popcorn bowl. She took it back with a teasing grin and waved her hand so sound could once again be heard from the picture box. The moment dissipated, but something had been there and Draco wanted to feel whatever it was again.

**.oOo.**

He was not surprised when Hermione went back to work on Saturday. She always seemed the type to have a six-day work week. If anyone could fix the world and have Sundays left over it was Granger, but Draco had his own problem to fix.

The knock on Hermione’s door came precisely at eleven. Draco took a deep breath and opened the door to reveal a smiling Astoria Greengrass. She was still stunning, with jet-black hair and green eyes he had gotten lost in more than once. He had barely registered her presence before she pulled him into a fierce hug.

“I was so delighted to receive your owl this morning!” she said. “I heard about you and Hermione Granger, but I had no idea she would be so good for you. Are you truly clean?”

“For about a month,” he admitted as she stepped away.

She gave him the once-over and said, “I don’t believe I have seen you this happy since you were fifteen. You finally look like the Draco Malfoy I remember.”

“Right, well, I want to be better than that,” he said. And it was true. He ran a hand through his hair and said, “Thanks for agreeing to help on such late notice.”

“Anything for the woman who brings you back to us,” Astoria said.

That hit Draco like a blow to the chest, so Astoria sidled by him and asked, “May I see the house?” She was already inside the foyer so Draco just followed her in. “How long has she lived here, two weeks?”

“Months,” Draco answered. At Astoria’s shocked expression he said, “She never intended to make this a home. I think she was just waiting for someone.”

“For you!” Astoria said with a grin.

Draco beamed back and said, “I suppose she was.”

“Well,” Astoria began as she poked her head into various rooms, “It appears we will be shopping for about three-quarters of a home.”

Draco laughed and said, “She will not be back until seven and I have every confidence in you.”

“As you should—hang on,” Astoria said as she peeked into Draco’s bedroom. “Why are your things in here when Hermione’s bedroom is at the other end of the hall?”

Draco did not respond. Astoria looked at him with pity eyes and he remembered exactly why he let their relationship end. That look, right there.

“Ron said that Harry told him you two were shagging.”

“I made Potter think so just to irritate him,” Draco admitted.

“That sounds like you, but then what are you to each other?” Astoria asked, confused. “Are you ... friends?”

“Yes.”

“Have you even kissed her?”

Draco walked toward the door and said, “No, we are not like that. I am not doing this to make her fall in love with me, I just think Hermione deserves a place that feels like home.”

Astoria tugged on his arm so Draco turned around to face her. She placed a palm against his cheek and said,

“I know the look in your eyes, Draco, because that is how you once looked at me. I still see it on occasion, but I don't think she will let you lose it this time. You think I don’t see your fake soulmate name and this restraint for what they are? I know you better than that.”

“I like her,” he admitted. “I thought it would disappear, but it hasn’t and I do not need her to reciprocate it. We all know she is worth far more than what I could offer.”

“You underestimate how much you have to give, ” Astoria replied. He knew her well enough to know she meant it. “Not just your money, but someone who lets you love them with all your heart. You just have to trust someone enough to open up, is all.”

Draco swallowed thickly and asked, “And you think ...”

“I think if you are going to trust anyone, why not her?”

**.oOo.**

Their first stop was Fianto Furniture. It was a very modern shop in Helga’s Kitchen, popular with Half-bloods and Muggle-borns. They walked inside and were treated to a showroom stretching much further on either side than its front would suggest. It was so vast Draco would not have been surprised if it took up the whole of a city block.

They were greeted by a young man, likely just a year out of Hogwarts.

“Welcome to Fianto--”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Astoria said as she waved him away. “Right, I figure we start with the basics and go from there. Beds first.”

Astoria dragged him over to a large section of beds and mattresses. She pointed out various options and Draco nodded at those he liked, shrugged at words he did not understand, and scrunched his nose at whatever he knew he didn’t want. Astoria eventually settled on a grey platform for the bed and an elaborate silver headboard.

“I do not want to take her too far away from the white, you know. Small steps forward. If it looks too unfamiliar then it isn’t home at all and you are back where you began.”

“No, I agree completely,” Draco said, “but that platform is too large for her bed.”

“We are getting her a new mattress,” Astoria said. “I have shared your bed, Draco, and Merlin knows you begin the evening on one side and somehow manage to toss yourself onto the other. She will require a king size.”

“Honestly,” he sighed, “I do not see things going that direction.” After all, Hermione had faked him out just last night.

“Draco, my darling, you are incredibly smart and also, at times, an idiot.”

Facts.

”I know the name on your arm is a forgery and that means hers is as well. If she put your name on her arm, then she has bound herself to you in the most important way that matters. What else could that possibly mean?”

That it was the only way for the two of them to survive in a cursed dimension. That they were both terrified past the point of rationality. But Draco figured that would be a bit of a mood-killer so he conceded the point.

They selected new backsplash and tile for the kitchen. They picked out new tile for the bathrooms, new showers, and all the little finishings Draco had never paid attention to. Astoria really was the perfect help for this project.

“This is nice,” she said as they approached the one section Draco needed most. “I like being around this new you. You make jokes again.”

He smiled, then caught sight of the one piece of furniture Hermione absolutely had to have.

“That one,” he said, pointing it out. “She needs that one right there.”

Astoria waved her hand and a black tag embossed with a silver “M” appeared on its leg.

“I think we have nearly everything. I will have this sent over to her house and they will install everything with rush service. Did not bother asking the price, I figured you would pay it.”

“Fine by me,” Draco said. He was anxious to get this done, as much for himself as for Hermione. If they were going to live here for another week, even a single day more, it needed to be in a place that did not feel like a mausoleum for their old lives.

Their second stop was an art gallery in Godric’s Hollow. Gabrielle Delacour showed them around, narrating all the offerings but Draco did not immediately find anything that suited Hermione. He did not want it to end up like the manor, filled with historical portraits and paintings prized more for the name in the corner than the subject.

“This is a new piece by Luna Lovegood,” Gabrielle said. She gestured toward a painting of Hogwarts at nighttime, silhouetted by moonlight, several windows lit by yellow candlelight. It looked different after the war. They rebuilt, sure, but it was never the same. This was the Hogwarts Draco had seen when he looked up from the small rowboats on his way to be Sorted.

“I will take it,” Draco said. “Do you have anything else like this one?”

Gabrielle shook her head and said, “I only have the one piece from Luna. There is, however, a piece I think you may like. It is different, but ... I think it is exactly what you are looking for.”

She led them over toward the left end of the shop, Astoria hot on her heels while Draco hung back a bit. It was nice to see Astoria at work; she excelled at this sort of thing. Draco always knew they would be doing this together, but he never thought it would be for a home she would have no part in.

Astoria stared at the painting with a huge smile on her face. It was a white dragon, a Romanian Longhorn with three golden horns coming out the top of its head like a crown. There was nothing else in the painting; the background was completely black. The dragon slept peacefully, its breaths slow and even against a horizonless backdrop. It was gorgeous and Draco thought it would look wonderful in the entryway.

“I will purchase this one,” Astoria said. “Consider it a housewarming gift.”

“Hermione has lived there for months,” Draco countered.

“But you haven’t,” she quipped back.

Once they made all the necessary purchases, there was only one stop left to make. Draco was twelve thousand Galleons lighter for the trouble, but hopefully Hermione’s reaction would be worth it. Astoria took Draco Sidealong back to her house in Godric’s Hollow. The living area was nice and large, spacious enough for a larger family. Draco spotted a wedding photo on a shelf and his heart sank for a moment. For all their progress that day, the idea of what might have been still hung over him.

Then a little ginger girl ran into the room.

“MUM!” she shouted, running straight for Astoria’s knees.

She knelt to hug her daughter and said, “Rose, this is my friend, Draco.”

“Hi!” Rose exclaimed. She ran at Draco’s legs and he immediately transitioned into godfather mode. He picked Rose up and rested her against his hip.

“Hello there,” he said.

“My mum talks about you lots.”

Rose had Weasley’s hair, but the rest of her was all Astoria. Those green eyes, that tiny round nose, and even her smile came from her mother.

“I think about your mum lots, too,” Draco said. “She is a good friend of mine.”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Rose asked. Clearly a trick question with only one correct answer. Draco glanced over to Astoria who mouthed, _YELLOW!_

“Well, I love all colours,” he said, “but I like the colour of the sun best. Do you know what that is?”

“YELLOW!” Rose yelled directly into Draco’s ear.

He grimaced and laughed.

“Bloody hell!” came an unfortunately familiar voice from the doorway. “We talked about this, Rose, you are not supposed to like him!”

“But his favourite colour’s yellow!” she insisted. “He can’t be bad ‘f he likes yellow.”

“You know what, Rose?” Weasley asked. “You’re right. No one bad has ever liked the colour yellow, I’ll give you that one. Now, Malfoy, if you’ll put my daughter down, please ...”

Draco obliged him, but Rose grabbed onto his leg once she hit the ground. Astoria grinned from ear to ear and Ron Weasley rolled his eyes.

“The women in my life will never be free of you,” he said.

“I could say the same of you,” Draco countered.

“Fair. Well, I have what you asked for,” Ron said. He offered Draco a medium-sized box, which Draco accepted and tucked beneath his left arm. Ron lowered his voice and said, “I still think you’re a bloody prick.”

“Get in line,” Draco said. He glanced into the box and smiled. Everything he needed was there, so he offered his hand and said, “Thank you.”

Ron took his hand and said, “I trust her judgement, but that doesn’t mean I understand it.”

“You and me both, Weasley.”

Astoria helped Draco put the finishing touches on the house after everything was complete. Fianto had taken almost no time at all to move the new things in. Made easier by the fact that there was nothing to move out. Astoria put a vase of flowers in the middle of the new dining room table and stepped back to admire her work. Once she gave her approval, Draco got one final hug.

“You must owl me immediately to tell me what she thinks!” Astoria insisted.

“I will,” he said. “And Astoria, thank you for all of this. For being ... you.”

“I love you, Draco Malfoy,” she replied. “And there is a world out there where we get to be happy together, I know it.”

“I would give anything to find it,” Draco insisted with a teary smile.

Astoria shook her head and said, “We have all we need right here.”

**.oOo.**

Draco met Hermione on the front porch. She raised her eyebrows and asked,

“Is everything alright?”

“I did something.”

“Oh, God, did you hex Ron’s bollocks off?” Hermione asked.

Draco laughed.

“You said that we should move on together, and that we should find something better than what we lost.”

“Yes ...” Hermione admitted.

“And we agreed to make this house our home while we are here.”

“Yes ...”

“I wanted to make it feel more like a place we both want to live,” Draco admitted. “While you were out I did some redecorating.”

“Did you buy new curtains?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.”

“How delightful!” she exclaimed. She opened the front door and said, “I have been wanting some new drapes for the ...” She trailed off once she got a look at the entryway. “For the ... library.”

The first thing she noticed was the dragon painting on the wall. She looked back at Draco curiously and immediately made for the kitchen. She stopped mid-step when she saw the new white dining table that could comfortably seat eight.

“Your friends could not come over and eat at your tiny round table,” Draco insisted.

“But you ... It looks like I live here, now. Bloody hell, you even updated the backsplash!”

“That was Astoria’s idea.”

Hermione’s face fell and she turned to glare at him.

“Did you use my house as a way to get close to your ex-girlfriend?!” she shouted.

“No,” Draco said. “No, I knew she would do a good job and I wanted to see her. I met her daughter, actually. Rose and I are best friends now, so I could set up an introduction if you like.”

“Was that difficult for you?” Hermione asked, trailing her fingers along the new silver chairs around the table.

“Not as difficult as I would have expected,” Draco admitted. “My Astoria would never end up with your Ron, but these two seemed happy. And Rose is lovely. I would be lying if I said it was easy, but I feel better knowing that she is safe and loved.”

Then Hermione caught sight of the living area.

“Oh my God! You bought me a rug!”

It was a massive rug, white with hints of blue in the same shade as her sofa. The coffee table was new, as well. The picture box had its own shelf, which could be closed off at any time.

“I love this, Draco,” she said. “Honestly, you kept my stuff and just added around it to make this place liveable. It feels like this house should have always been this way.”  

Then she caught sight of the wall between the dining area and the living space. There were six photos in square frames, each of them courtesy of Ronald fucking Weasley. A couple were from their school days, Hermione with Potter and Weasley in one and the Gryffindor girls in another. There was a photo of Hermione holding baby James, a photo of Potter’s wedding party, the photo from Hermione’s bedside table, and one from the ribbon cutting at Granger & Patil.

She started crying and Draco asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

Hermione grabbed a pillow from the sofa and hit him in the chest.

“No, you absolute moron!” she mumbled through her tears. “It’s perfect. God! You are so infuriating.”

“Because I did a good job?” Draco asked, confused.

“Yes!” Hermione shouted back. “Yes, because you are not supposed to be like this. I am supposed to hate you and you should hate me because ... because ... It has always been that way. The sky is blue, the sun is yellow, and I hate you. It’s the simple three facts of the universe.”

Draco shrugged and said, “I am moving on, Hermione.”

“And I go as you go,” she repeated. She wiped her eyes and asked, “Right, well, is this the extent of it?”

“Bedroom,” Draco said. He followed her there as she practically jogged to her bedroom door.

Hermione peeked in and smiled. Her bed was a centrepiece, with an amazing headboard and a small shelf on one wall for the books she wanted to read at night. Hermione loved her new bathroom, and when she came out she asked,

“Malfoy, why do I now have a king-sized bed?”

He felt his face flush and turned away.

“Not my idea,” he insisted.

“But you didn’t put a stop to it, either,” Hermione said, confused.

“No, I did not,” Draco conceded before abruptly changing the subject. “There is one more room to look at and I am fairly excited about it.”

Hermione worriedly asked, “What did you do to my library?”

Draco flung open the door and she walked inside, stunned. She loved the painting of Hogwarts that hung above her new sitting area. There were two chairs instead of one, so they could sit together if they chose. There was another rug to delineate the area and a small table between the two chairs for drinks.

Her bookshelf was exactly the same, but everything else had been moved around to accommodate a large wooden rolltop desk. Hermione’s mouth fell open.

“You kept sitting on the floor, spilling ink everywhere, and I thought you should have a place to work. Astoria did most of the selecting, but I saw this and knew you had to have it. You can leave your parchment strewn all over the place, and close it up when you are done so you no longer have to look at it. I thought that of every room in your house, this is the one you most needed to feel like home.”

Hermione placed her palms flat against the desktop. She slowly turned around once more to look at the room, then balled up the front of Draco’s shirt in her fist. Before he could think, let alone say anything, Hermione Granger had pulled him down into a kiss by the nape of his neck.

The initial clacking together of teeth was painful, and Draco hissed, but they quickly found a rhythm. Hermione had both hands on his shirt collar, pulling him closer. Her lips were soft and Draco melted into the kiss, half-convinced he was dreaming. Hermione set the pace and Draco followed, their snogging nothing but slick lips and tentative tongues. Draco placed his hand on her neck and pulled back to breathe. Just as quickly, Hermione pulled him back down to nip at his lower lip. It could have been five seconds or thirty before they stopped, Draco didn’t know. When Hermione finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers.

“That was the only way I knew to thank you properly,” Hermione whispered. She opened her eyes and tilted her chin up the slightest bit so their lips nearly touched.

“If I knew there was a reward at the end, I might have redone the floors, too,” Draco teased. His heart was racing faster than any broom he’d ever ridden. Hermione was so close he still felt her breath against his lips. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he asked, “Was this a one-time only proposition?”

Hermione dropped her hold on Draco’s collar and said, “I hope you find a reason for me to do it again.”


	10. Granger Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe literally rains on Draco's parade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 11th, 2006.

As first kisses went, that was not Draco’s finest. He had thought about snogging Hermione before, but those fantasies were only ever a prelude to sex. The kiss itself was never important, but that horribly awkward, unexpected snog was better than anything Draco had dreamed up.

Of course, they didn’t talk about it. The next morning it was as if nothing happened. Draco woke and walked past the library to see Hermione diagramming their progress. She was still in her pyjamas, her hair slightly flatter on the left side where she’d slept on it. Draco stifled a laugh because she looked ridiculous. He curled into one of the new chairs as she explained,

“I have gotten Angelica and Penny Haywood to vote ‘no.’ I met with Gabriel Truman and he is a ‘no.’ I owled Rowan and he was a ‘no’ from the beginning.”

“When did you find time to do all this?” Draco asked.

Hermione shrugged and said, “I made time because I want to leave this place. I know some things are the same, but I can’t always tell what’s real from what is different.”

“I feel just the same,” Draco replied. “So you have flipped four committee members and we only need one more. Do you need me or shall I just let you work?”

“Of course I need you! We are a team, Draco, that is the only way we will get out of here. The journal said as much.” She paused. “Are you still upset I called you worthless?”

Draco suddenly found a spot on the floor very interesting. Hermione got up from her desk and walked over to place a hand on his shoulder. He let his fingers linger over top of hers before shrugging off her touch.

“You could have sat back and done nothing the past few years, but you chose to fight for people no one else believed to be worth the struggle.”

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

“See, you’re moping about again, and that is the worst thing about you,” Hermione said.

Draco grumbled, “Astoria Greenemerald.”

Hermione walked back to her diagram and laughed.

“Now, I do need you because you have a lunch with Chiara Lobosca.”

“Why?” Draco asked.

“Because she won’t see me and she would only speak to you. Didn’t say why, just said she wanted to talk to you.”

Draco shrugged and said, “Tell me when and where. Let’s kill this bloody bill.”

**.oOo.**

Chiara Lobosca was gorgeous. Not in a conventional way, just that she had history in her face. She had white-blonde hair not dissimilar to his own, and hard blue eyes. Eyes that had seen Hell. There were three scars that ran down the left side of her neck like something had scratched or clawed at her. But within all that were laugh lines and a warm smile.

She greeted Draco with a handshake outside of a small restaurant in Helga’s Kitchen. She said,

“Nice to meet you, Malfoy.”

“Same to you,” Draco said. He added, “You have the most interesting face I have ever seen.”

“Never thought you’d be a charmer,” Chiara replied with a grin.

They chatted a bit while they were seated. Conversation was pleasant and they ordered quickly; Chiara got a plate of vegetables and grains. Once their waiter left, Draco admitted,

“Not the selection I would have expected from you.”

“I don’t eat meat in public,” Chiara replied.

“Why?”

“Have you ever watched someone eat raw meat, Malfoy?”

“Draco, please. And Blaise took me to eat sushi once—”

“Trust me when I say you are better off not having those images in your head.”

“Right, well ...” Draco paused to sip some water. “Shall we get to business then?”

“Oh, you mean the marriage ban? It’s fucking rubbish, I will vote no.”

Draco paused, stunned.

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I am mad for a good love story and I want to know how you got Hermione Granger to fall for you.”

Draco laughed and admitted, “We are faking it, Chiara. Neither of us had names, we just thought it would be easier to survive this way.”

“Even better.”

“Sorry, am I missing something?”

Chiara grinned.

“Everyone in the Shadows knows what Pansy Parkinson does. You know there are eyes and ears everywhere in Knockturn Alley. Did you really think you could keep this from our world? From the people who know where to look?”

“I ... I ...” Draco stuttered and Chiara’s smile softened.

“I am dying to know the story behind all this. You do not need to tell me, of course, I will vote the bill down either way.”

Draco shrugged. What did he have to lose?

“It is a bit of a, well, we’ve been cursed. Hermione and I are from another world and were dragged here by a family curse. Hermione and I were jailed immediately when they found out we did not have names on our arms and our only solution was to put them there.”

Chiara sipped some of her fizzy drink then said, “Very _Twilight Zone_. I like it.”

“I do not understand.”

“Right,” Chiara scoffed, “you Purebloods are so boring. It’s a Muggle reference.”

“You believe me?” Draco asked.

She leaned forward and said, “Every month I grow fangs and develop a taste for human flesh. I am well acquainted with the difference between ‘unlikely’ and ‘impossible.’”

“Then you understand there is no love story here,” Draco insisted.

The look Chiara gave him right then was straight out of Hermione’s repertoire. The one that said, _It’s adorable how thick-headed you can be sometimes._ Come to think of it, his mother had that look as well.

Chiara said, “Curse or no curse, that’s permanent. You sat there and allowed her to ink Hermione Granger’s name into your skin. Granger let someone ink your name onto her arm forever. You and Granger must have at least suspected those would never go away and you did it anyway.”

“Because we wanted to figure out how to get home!” Draco said, though it sounded less convincing when spoken aloud. “We agreed to defeat this bill by staying together, because if we failed to kill it in committee then the Wizengamot would never put a stop to Hermione’s marriage.”

“Wouldn’t it have made a more substantial statement if you both admitted to not having soulmate names?” Chiara pointed out, and Draco felt a sudden rush of stupid overcome him.

He stared at his water glass, chastened.

“Would that not have had a better effect on everyone?” Chiara asked.

“I suppose ...”

“You might have torn the entire system down but the two of you chose to destroy it from within.”

Draco was ashamed to admit, “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“I wonder whether it crossed hers,” Chiara said. “But neither of you suggested it and you chose to bind yourselves to each other. I get the feeling you do not understand the weight that carries in this world. For whatever reason, you chose her and she chose you, and not as a last resort.”

Draco thought about it until their food arrived. He picked at it with his fork and Chiara did not press him for an answer. Eventually, Draco found one, even if he was not particularly proud of it.

“Hermione said that while we are here we should at least fight to make this right, to kill this bill even though it does not affect her or her friends. She saw something wrong and immediately wanted to fix it, wanted to help me. I decided to help her in return and that was, at the time, the only way I could think to do it.”

“Right,” Chiara teased, “the only way you could think to help her was to betrothe yourselves. And it does affect her friends, since Astoria Greengrass’s father was a Death Eater. Which means that Ron Weasley would, in fact, have his marriage nullified.”

“Fuck Merlin, you’re right,” Draco huffed. “Now that you lay it out, it does seem a bit stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Chiara countered, “romantic.”

“Who is your soulmate, then?” Draco asked desperate to change the topic. “You appear to be the expert on all this.”

Chiara’s smile vanished. She held up her left forearm and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a gnarly scar. About a third of her arm was just gone, the muscle around it marred by what once must have been a large bite mark.

“I’ll never know.”

“Good God,” Draco hissed. “Who did that to you?”

“Fenrir Greyback,” Chiara revealed. “He bit me when I was seven.”

Draco grimaced at his own unpleasant memories.

“I hope he died a horrible death.”

Chiara briefly touched the scars on her neck and said, “He did.” Then she stabbed her fork into some broccoli. “Do not feel sorry for me, though. I am never bored, never wanting for love, and I am really happy doing what I do.”

“What is it that you do, exactly?”

“That must stay in the Shadows.”

“Understood.” He had far too many friends in the underground to press further. Some things were better left unknown.

“But the lack of intimacy between you and Hermione Granger is fascinating. Are you both completely ignorant of your attraction to each other or—”

“No!” Draco said, far too quickly. “Um, no, I have had a crush on her for an embarrassingly long time. I simply thought it would disappear and it never did.”

“Love has a way of doing that,” Chiara conceded.

“I am not in love with her,” Draco said. Again, not as convincing as he would have liked to sound.

“Sure,” Chiara said. “So you plan to separate once the bill is dead, then?”

“What?” Draco asked. “What, no, no, of course not.”

“Why?” Chiara asked knowingly. “The purpose of your names will have been served. You will no longer need to feign a loving relationship to end the marriage ban so, naturally, it will end. Unless you don’t want it to.”

Draco moved his mouth but no words came out. He’d been outsmarted far too often in this universe. The thought of being here without Hermione, of being back at the manor for any time, all of it left him feeling curiously empty. He sighed and said,

“She will never love me, Chiara. It cannot happen, not with our history.”

“You’re speaking to a Werewolf, Draco.” Chiara said. “I have had lovers that carried me through dark times, people willing to be there for me, and not a single one would ever have thought to put my name on their arm.”

“So you think there is a chance?” Draco asked.

“I know there is.”

“But ...”

Their waiter returned and Draco ordered a glass of the strongest liquor they had.

“Let me ask you this,” Chiara said, “if you could have anything you want, what would it be?”

“I would want the Ministry to stop discriminating against CODE members,” Draco said without hesitation. “I would do anything—”

“Exactly! You are thinking about things the wrong way,” Chiara countered. “You see, the point of _Twilight Zone_ was that nothing was ever as it seemed. You think of this place as a curse, but you needed to see this place to realize there is some part of your life that is not what it should be. Something is missing.”

“I was fighting more than one.”

“So is Hermione Granger,” Chiara revealed.

Draco narrowed his eyes and asked, “Sorry, what?”

“She is in danger, Draco. That’s why I needed to meet with you. Hermione needs someone to look out for her right now.”

“Why?”

“That will have to—”

“—Stay in the Shadows, yeah, I’ve got that,” Draco spat. “You cannot give me more than ‘look out for her?’”

Chiara sighed and said, “You have people that you trust?”

“Yes.”

“Trust them half as much as you do right now. Find someone with absolutely nothing to lose, and that is who you can count on. I cannot tell you how or why I know, but she has a target on her back.”

**.oOo.**

Draco went for a run after lunch. The Marjoribanks Gardens were one of his favourite spots because of the noise. It was a peaceful sort of loud, the sound of a flowing stream or the birds or the chatter of visitors having a picnic. It kept Draco out of his head. The steady pattern of his trainer soles against the path, the challenge of spacing his breaths evenly, it was all focus and not a lot of thought.

Lunch with Chiara Lobosca was the opposite. She knew far more than she let on, but Hermione was in danger. Not his Hermione, but the double. Then again, as far as the Ministry knew they were one and the same.

Could this universe get any worse?

A drop of water landed on Draco’s shoulder. He paid it no mind as he ran across the footbridge, but another landed on his forehead. And another then another, and five steps later there was a full storm raging overhead. Draco groaned as thunder rocked the ground beneath him. He flung wet hair from his eyes and grimaced as water made it through his trainers to soak his socks. Less than ten seconds after the initial drop, Draco was wet from head to toe.

He Apparated onto Hermione’s porch where the storm was well underway. Draco knocked and she opened the front door a few seconds later.

“Oh, you’re soaked! Come in. You don’t have to knock, the wards will let you in.”

“How strong are the protection wards around your house?” Draco asked. He shut the door behind him and toed off his trainers in the foyer.

Hermione gave him the same look Chiara had four hours earlier.

“Draco, I have protection runes tattooed on my back! ‘How strong are the protection wards?’ I was warding off Snatchers at eighteen. It is easier to break into the Ministry than it is my house. The only people who can come in uninvited are you, Harry, and Ron.”

“Oh, love, I am flattered,” Draco teased. “I need to shower, but Chiara told me things I must discuss with you.” Draco pulled off his wet socks and when he stood up, Hermione was staring at his chest, brown eyes wide with mild horror. Draco looked down to see his light grey t-shirt clinging to his skin, emphasizing the three raised scars that dragged from his left shoulder to the right side of his stomach.

“Yeah, Potter really mucked up my sex life with that one.”

Hermione did not reply; she just continued to stare. Draco shrugged and walked by her. He peeled his shirt off and over his head before tossing it on the floor. It made a horrible squelching noise against the wood.

“Oh, and Astoria mentioned that—”

Draco turned back and Hermione immediately turned her head away like she had been caught looking at something she shouldn't have. He smiled, realizing she wanted to watch him undress. Maybe, just maybe that kiss had been more than a thank-you.

He said, “Never mind.”

Hermione had dinner on the table by the time Draco was dressed, still sufficiently pruned. Her gaze alone had added five minutes to his shower. It was impossible not to wank after that. He sat in the vacant chair and Hermione said,

“Pick up your clothes next time. I am not your house-elf.”

Back to “Malfoy” then. She was trying to distance herself because she’d been caught looking in a vulnerable moment. Draco shrugged it off and said,

“Chiara will vote no, so the marriage ban is dead.”

“Excellent!”

“Not quite,” Draco added. “She believes you are in danger. Your double must have made some prominent enemies.”

“My whole fucking life is dangerous.”

Oh, a true profanity from Granger? She was in quite the mood.

“Look, Hermione, I am not upset that you were staring. Sort of flattered, really. But as someone with a very vested interest in you staying alive, can you try to focus a bit?”

She tore apart some bread and said, “I am sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Do not apologize,” Draco insisted. “For someone so brilliant you do have moments of idiocy.”

“How do you mean?”

“What part of me having my tongue in your mouth made you think I was not enjoying it?” Draco asked. “But again, Hermione, focus.”

“Right, right ... I am in danger.” She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “If Chiara Lobosca knows something, why would she refuse to meet with me? Why tell you?”

Draco’s thoughts had traveled the same path.

“She said her work is done underground, very secret. Maybe she could not meet with you because it would arouse suspicion.”

“But what would be suspicious?” Hermione asked, spinning her fork between her fingers. “It is a secret that involves me ... Wait!”

Draco jumped as Hermione’s fork clattered onto her plate.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “Chiara Lobosca works for the Ministry! She works for the Ministry in the underground, in the Shadows?! Draco, she’s a hitwizard.”

God, no. It explained everything, the scars, her coyness about her work, and how she knew Hermione was in peril.

“You think someone at the Ministry ordered you assassinated?”

Hermione nodded.

“Draco, why would I hide the pages of Romilda’s book? Just those pages?”

“Because that is the only part of her book the Ministry cares about. If they came for you, at least the pages would survive, but why give them to me?”

“Because the only person the Ministry hates more than me,” Hermione said, “is you. And I trust you, Draco Malfoy.”

“With the pages, you mean.”

“With everything that matters.”

Draco looked at her for a long while. He understood what those words meant, how in less than a week he and Hermione Granger had grown close out of necessity. She did not back away from his gaze. He finally asked,

“Why? What, exactly, is my value here?”

Without hesitating she said, “I don’t know why you went to Millicent’s the other night, but I trusted that you would come back. Since we have been here you have always helped me get to the right answer. You make me focus, make me see clearly. With you everything is steady, and Merlin knows I need that right now.”

“I like that,” Draco admitted. He felt the corner of his mouth tick up a bit. “Not worthless after all.”

“Not at all,” Hermione agreed.

They finished eating as the storm raged on outside. After a loud crack of thunder, Draco got up to open one of the windows. He always liked listening to the pitter-patter of rain, though not while he was in it. Hermione joined him and they stood there side-by-side for awhile.

Eventually Draco asked, “What could you have done that the Ministry would kill you for?”

“The more I think about it, the more I don’t believe they were holding me for an assessment. When I got here they were just waiting to kill me.”

Draco needed alcohol before he could even think about heading down that trail of thought. He said,

“I have a question I need you to logic out for me.”

“Go ahead,” Hermione replied, delighted.

“Say I believe this destiny rubbish. That means certain points in time are going to be met regardless of what we alter between them.”

“Yes.”

“If this place was always destined, then I never had a chance, did I? Astoria was never going to work no matter how hard I tried because I had to end up here.”

Hermione considered it and said, “That is the logical progression, but I do not believe marriage is the real determination in your family’s curse. It is all about love, isn’t it? So Astoria Greengrass was never the best for you. This curse forces you to find whomever you are meant to love.”

Draco looked over at her and asked, “Then were you always meant to be cursed, too?”

Hermione shrugged and said, “I suppose I was.”

He laughed and said, “Me and you, Granger, destined to be cursed together.”

“Well someone had to be here to save your ass.”


	11. Day Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger's double made some good decisions, because sometimes going against the government is the right thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 12th.

June 12th. Day seven.

Draco woke around eight that morning. He hated Mondays. Mondays were the Gilderoy Lockharts of weekdays: annoying, useless, and claiming to be far more important than they actually were. Who ever accomplished anything on a Monday?

Unlike his great-grandfather, Draco was never much for journaling.

His father used to say, “There are two types of people in the world, my son. Those who write, and those who do things worth writing about.” That advice was total shit, but Draco learned that sometimes beneath his father’s terrible platitudes there was a kernel of wisdom. If Draco succeeded where it was important, CODE, then people would write about it. If he failed, well, they would write about that too.

As Draco stared up at the ceiling, he thought back on his first week in a different universe. He hated all of it. The predetermined soulmate nonsense was a pile of Hippogriff shit and everyone was different because of it. Perhaps not Blaise or Dean Thomas. Romilda Vane was right that they would be perfect for each other in any universe. They were just _like that._  Same for his parents, but Astoria and Weasley?! Why?! He had to force back confused tears just thinking about it.

If he had to give Weasley a compliment, absolutely had to, Draco would concede that the fucking prat was loyal to a fault. All of his courageous acts were done out of loyalty to his friends and his family, which apparently included Astoria. Weasley would never cheat on her, Draco was certain. He had the bollocks to end things with Hermione even though he was in love with her. Draco knew himself well enough to know that if he was in the same position he could not have done it. Weasley had heart and Astoria deserved someone like that. It didn’t have to be Weasley, of course, but she could have done worse ...

Draco cringed. Complimenting Ronald fucking Weasley was too much so early in the morning. He rolled onto his side and faced the closet. He knew he should get up, but it was so tempting to just sleep the next week away. Pretend everything was fine. But the moment Draco closed his eyes he remembered someone in the government put out a hit on his fake girlfriend and there were hundreds of actual marriages depending on him. He rolled onto his back again and sighed.

“Fuck.”

He threw the covers off and leapt up before he could reconsider.

It was nice getting ready in the house’s new form. Little touches, like the rug in front of the sink so Draco didn’t jump half a metre in the air when his feet touched cold tile, made it more livable. He missed Malfoy Manor less with each passing day.

Hermione poked her head into the bathroom while Draco was brushing his teeth. He jumped in surprise, and tried to subtly fix his hair.

“Oi! Can I get some pri-fuh-see?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed a bit.

“You’re brushing your teeth.”

“I could-uff been in mah pants!”

“Do you often brush your teeth in your pants?” Hermione asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and said, through a mouthful of toothpaste, “No, but ah still could-uff been.”

“Right, well, I was thinking eggs for breakfast.”

Draco spat into the sink and turned to face her. Hermione was ready to leave, dressed in her professional robes, t-shirt and jeans underneath, but had paused to make breakfast? He noticed she had an ironlike grip on her wand.

“You came in here to ask whether I want eggs?”

Hermione tapped her fingers against the frame and said, “Yeah. I did.”

“Liar.”

She turned around and started to walk away, but Draco yelled after her.

“Shouldn’t you be at work? Saving the world one case at a time, or whatever it is you do.”

Hermione turned around again and said, “I took the day off.”

“You, Hermione Granger, willingly took a day off?” Draco asked. “Why?”

She bit down on her lip for a moment before saying, “I didn’t want to go.”

Draco quickly rinsed his mouth out and led Hermione out of the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and asked,

“Hermione, are you afraid to be alone right now?”

She smiled wanly and nodded. Draco’s heart began to race. If Hermione Granger was scared, he had better be damn near terrified. But he swallowed all of that and tried to be brave. After all, he wasn’t the target.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know this place!” Hermione shouted. She stuffed her wand in her hair and began waving her hands about wildly. “I have been a target since I was twelve years old, I know what that’s like. It’s different here. I don’t have Ron and Harry. I mean, I do, but they aren’t mine. I’ve got nowhere to turn except you.”

Draco smiled and said, “That is the most romantic way anyone has ever called me a last resort.”

“No, that’s ... That is not what I meant,” Hermione insisted.

“Yeah it is,” Draco said. “I am your last resort, love, but I think it has worked out okay for us so far.”

Hermione shrugged and said, “Yes, I suppose it has.”

“And I know that if I got to choose who I ended up here with, Hermione, it would have been you.”

She blushed. Hermione Granger went bright red when Draco said that and, goddamn, he really wished she would stop giving him such contradictory signs.

“You are the one person I trust to get me out of here. I will do whatever you need me to do, because we are partners in this world. If you want me to stay with you so you are not alone, I do not consider that hardship. You only have to ask.”

Hermione looked down at the floor and said, “I would like for you to eat breakfast with me, then.”

“Just breakfast?”

“Maybe lunch and dinner, too, we’ll see where the day goes. Perhaps I’ll be sick of you by then.”

Draco grinned and teased, “Oh, Granger, admit it, you like me a little.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Only a little.”

**.oOo.**

Breakfast was nice. Draco was surprised by how much he enjoyed being around Hermione. About seventy percent of the time, anyway. At the dining table, he mentioned offhand that he had always wanted to learn wandless magic. Since they had nothing else to do that day, Hermione agreed to teach him.

Her first half hour as a teacher was rubbish. She shouted rather frequently, but Draco was used to that. After all, his father had two decibels: 1) barely above a whisper and 2) WHY THE HELL IS MY SON SUCH A FAILURE?! Therefore, Draco did not mind the yelling; it kept him from getting lost in his head. His one task had been to levitate the parchment sitting on the table between them and he kept failing in spectacular fashion.

“Damn it!” Draco exclaimed as the parchment caught fire.

Hermione grabbed her wand and Draco watched as water flowed from the tip. Hermione Granger, always putting out the fires he managed to start in one way or another.

“It takes practice,” she said. “Maybe it would help if you understood where your magic comes from.”

Draco stared at the damp parchment, charred around the edges. He nodded for Hermione to proceed.

“Right, all humans have some sort of magic. For Muggles, magic is in their minds. Ours is in the heart, in our blood.”

“Magic of the mind?” Draco asked. “Like Occlumency?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Creativity, ingenuity ... It is all concentrated in their minds. Muggles are known make progress. After all, a Muggle invented trains, didn’t they? How would you get to school without the Hogwarts Express?”

“I never thought of that,” Draco admitted.

“Because you never wanted to,” Hermione countered. “Our magic is more difficult to control because it runs through every part of us at all times. A wand is a physical way to channel that energy into a single point. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Draco nodded and briefly glanced at his wand over on the kitchen counter. He felt a bit lost without it.

“You have to channel your magic to a single point,” Hermione said. She held up her palms for Draco to see. “Here.”

He mimicked her and said, “Okay.”

“When you’re on a broom you have control of that object’s magic.”

“Of course,” Draco replied, “that is how you steer and change speeds and trust the bloody thing not to throw you off.”

“Right. So just like that, this doesn’t require a lot of focus, you just need to think instinctively about what you need an object to do. Feel the magic inside you.” Draco saw amusement in her eyes at his frustration. “Your pulse, it’s flowing through you every second. Feel it, focus it all on one point, and use it.”

“Okay, Granger, I will give it a go,” Draco conceded.

He closed his eyes and did as she suggested. The parchment was on the table and it had been through quite a lot that morning. Draco needed it to float so he concentrated on it and repeated _Wingardium Leviosa!_ in his head. Something shifted after a moment. He felt his magic like a force being pulled away from then back to his heart. Draco recognized it as something that was always there, but he was suddenly acutely aware of it. Draco pushed back against that energy and it moved. He felt the magic swim against the current from his shoulders and it shot straight down his arm to hover in his fingertips.

_Wingardium Leviosa!_

That force disappeared like a floodgate had been opened. The magic continued to flow down through his fingers but it never got stuck.

“Draco.”

He opened his eyes to see Hermione smiling at him from across the table.

She tilted her chin up and said, “Look.”

And goddamn, the sopping piece of parchment was a full metre in the air. Hermione looked back at him and, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that was pride in her eyes. Probably just a trick of the light, but Draco was proud of himself. He’d been trying to do wandless magic for ages and never believed he would be successful.

Hermione ran around the table and hugged him. She broke Draco’s concentration so the parchment fell back to the table, but he considered it a fair trade.

She mumbled, “Knew you could do it,” into his shoulder and Draco patted her on the back. He’d managed to keep her mind off the hitwizard sent to kill her, and that was a win for however brief a time.

Draco spent the next hour trying to levitate random objects around the house. He broke a new lamp, but did have some success with small books and even made his bed without a wand. Not that he usually made his own bed, he had elves for that, but on that particular day it was rather fun.

Hermione prepared to make lunch, having been at Draco’s side every moment for the previous three hours.

“Do you have any idea what you could have done to incite this attack against you?” Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head and said, “I’ve been thinking on it all morning.”

“Chiara told me something rather strange I think may help.”

“Someone at the Ministry wants me dead,” Hermione quipped. “We already went over the ‘something strange.’”

“Yes, but she told me to only trust my friends halfway.”

“What could that mean?” Hermione asked.

“I think she was telling me to be careful who we choose to trust with our secrets until we have this whole bloody mess cleaned up. She said we should find someone with nothing to lose. That is who will be able to help us best.”

“Someone with absolutely nothing to lose that believes we don’t belong here?” Hermione summarized. “We already found her.”

**.oOo.**

Romilda Vane lived alone in a nice London flat. She opened the door and Draco was still surprised at how beautiful she was. She was three years below him in school so there was never much socializing between them, but nonetheless ... Romilda was gorgeous. She wore purple leisure robes with no sleeves and a neckline that plunged practically to her torso. He glanced over at Hermione to find he wasn’t the only one staring. Romilda welcomed them in like she hadn’t even noticed.

When Hermione asked how she lived in such a nice a Muggle building, she said, “I exchange Galleons for Muggle money at Gringotts and pay my landlady in cash. She agrees not to ask questions.”

There was a small sitting area near some windows that looked down onto a bustling city street. Draco felt very out of place in Romilda’s flat. It was better than Hermione’s house had been; Romilda’s place was clearly lived-in. However, it had a similar undercurrent of loneliness. Everything was made for one. One bedroom, one armchair in front of the picture box, and only one place set at the table. For someone who made her living off the desires of other people, Romilda was entirely alone.

Hermione leaned against the bar as Draco sat next to Romilda in the fluffy armchairs. She was not surprised someone at the Ministry had it out for Hermione.

“So much of people’s identities are wrapped up in their soulmate names, far worse than it used to be. It is the essence of their policy decisions and you threaten that.”

“How?” Hermione asked.

Romilda stood up and hustled over to a shelf filled with what looked like scrapbooks.

“I keep every article from the _Prophet_ and other magazines that I might want to reread. Anything involving my friends, people I admire ...” She trailed off and pulled a blue book from the shelf. “This was the front page three Sundays ago.”

Hermione took the book and squinted at something before conceding, “Yes, that would do it.” She paused then looked up at Draco to say, “I know why no one has been skeptical of our soulmate names.”

“Why?” Draco asked.

“We’re dating.”

Draco leapt up from his seat and grabbed the book from Hermione’s hands. The picture on the front of the _Prophet_ was him and Hermione at a press conference inside CODE headquarters. The headline read, “War Hero Granger Joins CODE as Outside Counsel.” 

 

> _Hermione Granger, of law firm Granger & Patil, has officially signed on as outside counsel for the Children of Death Eaters Alliance, otherwise known as CODE. the organization’s founder, Draco Malfoy, said, “We are fortunate to have someone so dedicated to justice as Hermione Granger joining our organization. She has agreed to help us work against Wizengamot Bill 8725, colloquially known as the ‘Marriage Ban.’” _
> 
> _Granger said, “I have dedicated my life to ensuring people have equal rights and equal protection under the law, regardless of their parentage. That does not apply exclusively to Muggle-borns, because I believe no one should be held accountable for the mistakes of their parents and the adults around them.”_
> 
> _The first committee hearing on WB8725 will be held on June 6th._

The photo was the strangest part. Perhaps most people would have missed it, but Draco’s hand was far too comfortable sitting that low on Hermione’s back. He was looking down at her the way he looked at Astoria, completely awestruck that anyone could love him enough to make him feel like he was worth all the trouble.

The best part was that Hermione smiled back at him.

“I think you are correct,” Draco agreed. “And I have been sober far longer than a month in this photo. Maybe ten weeks? My eyes are still green, but everything else is normal. My teeth are a proper white, nails not bitten down to their edges, and even my hair looks good. This took months.”

“D’you think,” Romilda offered, “that perhaps Hermione heard about the marriage ban resurfacing a few months ago? Maybe she came to you, Draco, and said if you sobered up she would help you defeat it.”

“It would not be out of the question,” Draco said. “I only ever needed a good reason to stop.”

“A couple weeks in, the two of you have a late night in Hermione’s office—no! A late night in the manor library and one thing leads to another and there’s a kiss—“

“That is a very well-thought-out fantasy,” Hermione observed.

“Though not entirely improbable,” Draco teased. “I know how much you enjoy snogging in libraries.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned bright pink and Romilda squealed in excitement.

“Did you two kiss? Oh, you kissed! I knew it! If you get married can I write the story? _An Accidental Partnership?_ Or perhaps _A Forbidden Partnership?_ Please!”

Draco couldn’t hold back a laugh, but Hermione was not so amused.

“We had one kiss but—”

“I knew it!”

“—if this is true then we haven’t even been living a lie. We were dating. I was helping you work against the marriage ban. We fell right into our doubles’ lives exactly as we were supposed to.”

That was a comforting thought. At least the curse had a plan, and everything they had done so far was exactly right. Their instincts were better than they realized.

“Why did you keep this?” Draco asked, holding up the article’s page.

Romilda gingerly touched her left forearm and said, “What you two, or your counterparts I suppose, are doing is one of the most courageous things I have ever seen. She paused and kicked at the floor a bit. “If you can do this then maybe there is hope for people like me, too. I won’t be confined to the Shadows anymore.”

Draco put the book on the kitchen counter and pulled Romilda into a tight hug.

“We are going to try our absolute best.”

“I just don’t want to live like this.”

“I promise you won’t have to,” Draco said.

Because he understood Romilda better than anyone else in this God-forsaken world. She could have had Pansy ink any name on her arm but chose not to. She wanted to leave the possibility of love open, and she refused to bow to a system that said she was a threat or somehow inferior. Romilda Vane was a romantic and she was surviving, holding her soul together with Spellotape.

She patted Draco on the side so he dropped his hold and stepped away.

“If you need any information, I know everything about everyone in the Shadows. That is all I can really offer, but—“

“That is exactly what we need,” Draco replied.

“And we trust you.”

Draco was more than a little surprised to hear those words from Hermione’s mouth. Judging by her expression, so was Romilda. Hermione offered her hand and Romilda took it with mild trepidation.

“I read your book,” Hermione said as she let go, “all of it. I thought it was researched well, properly thought-out, and your conclusions were spot-on even if you are a bit fanciful about the romance of it all.”

Romilda shrugged and said, “Guilty.”

“But you are one of the best writers I have ever read and you will have the first crack at my and Draco’s love story.” Hermione paused to look over at Draco, whose heart had leapt into his throat. “Whatever form it takes.”


	12. The Anniversary Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party don't start until Malfoy walks in ... but he might not be walking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 13th and 14th, 2006.
> 
> TW: Injury

Draco woke up the same way on day eight. He was still actively avoiding his parents, Hermione remained under threat, and Astoria was still married to Weasley. His heart ached a little at that last one. Draco meant it when he said he wanted Astoria to be safe and happy, he just hadn’t been ready to see her achieve that with someone else.

He was definitely not a morning person. Something tapped obnoxiously against the bedroom window so Draco reluctantly threw the covers down to his legs. He grabbed a blanket to wrap around his shoulders and padded over to open the window so two owls could fly inside. They each dropped a letter on the pile of blankets and sheets at the end of Draco’s bed before zooming back out. He recognized one as Theo’s owl and knew exactly what was in the envelope. In all the hustle and bustle of jumping dimensions, Draco completely forgot he had a party to attend. He got ready very slowly that morning, contemplating the best way to cancel. He picked up both envelopes and skulked his way to the dining area where Hermione was preparing a legal brief.

“Looks important,” he mumbled, plopping into the chair at her left.

“Just going over some ideas to present at the next general meeting of the G8 3/4.”

“Right, well, this letter arrived from the Ministry—”

“Yes, I received one as well,” Hermione said without looking up. “They cancelled all subsequent hearings on WB8725 and plan to hold the vote this Friday.”

“Fantastic!” Draco said, tossing the letter aside. “No need to drag this out any longer now they know they will not have the votes.”

Hermione glanced over at him and asked, “It doesn’t seem too easy to you?”

“No. You did most of the work so how could it go wrong?”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Hermione sighed and went back to jotting ideas on her parchment.

“Do what?”

“Think that I can do everything. I’m not infallible.”

“Pretty damn close,” he countered.

“Oh my God!” Hermione threw down her quill and glared at him. “Who are you and what the hell have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

“Ah, you want my father’s version of me. Right, let’s see ...” Draco sat up so his spine was rigidly straight. He sneered and said, “Granger, your hair is stupid, you have rotten taste in men, and when you cook breakfast the eggs are too runny.”

The corner of Hermione’s mouth twitched up and then she fell backward in giggles. Draco grinned and let his father fade into the back of his consciousness.

“Oh, God, that was wonderful.”

“All true, by the way,” Draco added.

“Oh sure,” Hermione replied facetiously. “I chose you as my soulmate so I’ll concede rotten taste in men.”

“Oh you wound me,” Draco teased, jokingly clutching at his heart. “I am a great boyfriend, Granger.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she admitted. “You did fix my whole house in a day.”

“I needed to make this place livable for me, is all,” Draco lied.

Hermione laughed.

“I might have believed you if it was the bathrooms, the living area, the kitchen, and only the places you use. What you did for me was thoughtful and that makes you a good fake boyfriend.”

Draco shrugged and said, “You thanked me well enough.”

“Eh,” Hermione mumbled, “I could have done better.”

“Well I did buy you a nice new bed and if you’d like to thank me properly—”

“In your dreams, babe,” Hermione quipped. She used a finger to test the ink on the parchment to ensure it was dry before she rolled it up. “What is the other letter for?”

“What?” Draco asked. He grabbed the envelope off the table and sat on it. “What letter?”

Hermione gave him a look Draco was starting to interpret as, “Your stupidity is no longer cute.” She held out her hand and he felt the envelope fly out from beneath his bum for Hermione to snatch in midair. She tore it open over Draco’s protests and read it aloud. 

> “To Draco Malfoy,
> 
> This is a reminder that you reserved a spot for you and a plus-one at tomorrow’s party! Join us as we celebrate our sixth anniversary. Please wear your finest dress robes and dancing shoes since we have Ghouls and Roses performing!
> 
> See you tomorrow!
> 
> -Theo and Tracey Nott”

Hermione looked up at Draco and asked, “Isn’t this the biggest celebration you all have every year?”

Draco did not need to ask what she meant by “you all.” Hermione was referring to CODE members. His community, his friends, his family and her former enemies. Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth and said,

“We are not going.”

“But I see it in the papers every year.”

“Not going!” 

“Why the hell not?” Hermione asked, matching his decibel.

Draco snatched the letter from her hand and made for the fireplace. Hermione ran after him and shouted,

“Wait!”

“For what?”

“Do you not want to take me?” she asked. “I understand I would be a massive distraction from your friends and it should be about them.”

“Oh, shit, no that is not it at all,” Draco said. “No, Hermione, it has nothing to do with you. I just haven’t seen Theo since we have been here.”

She knew right away what he meant and Draco hated that. When did he become so quick a study? But Hermione was looking at him in understanding, not in pity.

“You have not seen your godchildren since we’ve been here,” Hermione translated.

Draco nodded.

“You used to be the worst person I knew, but you got better, made yourself into a better person. That has always been in you, Draco, and you did the same here. CODE is still here! You are still fighting for those kids here.”

“Theo didn’t choose me!” Draco shouted. He tossed the letter into the fireplace and did not need a wand to ignite the flames. “Back home, Theo trusted me enough to get clean. Hell, they named me godfather before they knew they were having twins, on the condition I got and stayed clean.”

“Maybe your double failed,” Hermione suggested. “That doesn’t mean Theo is less of a friend or that the kids will love you any less.”

“But—”

“Kids don’t understand what ‘godfather’ means. Either they love you or they don’t. You were not all that different here, Draco. To us, perhaps, but not to them.”

Draco looked at Hermione and said, “I hope you are right.”

He prayed that she was. Hermione had a dozen questions as the day went along.

“Why is their anniversary such a big event in your world?”

There it was again. _Your world_.

“We had to rebuild after the war like everyone else,” Draco answered. “Their marriage was the first real reason we had to celebrate. My mother planned the celebration and still does every year. Theo and Tracey got married in the manor gardens, and everyone felt like if we were given the chance we could move on. We continue to celebrate, but we are still waiting on that opportunity.”

She mulled that over for a bit.

At dinner, Hermione asked, “Why does everyone else care?”

“Fuck if I know,” Draco admitted. “A bunch of rich people and war criminals dressing up makes for good photographs?”

“I think you should go.”

There were about fifteen thousand ways it could go wrong, but Draco said, “I think _we_ should go.”

**.oOo.**

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione passed Draco a slip of parchment labeled, “RULES.”

  1. No snogging without my permission
  2. No touching my bum
  3. Your friends are not allowed to call me “Mudblood”



“I’ll punch them if they do, and I would not kiss you without your permission,” he said as he returned the slip of parchment.

“I just thought it would be nice to have some guidelines for our fake relationship,” Hermione replied. “So you know what I am comfortable with. No comment on my bum, then?”

Draco shrugged and said, “More of a tits man myself.”

Hermione went very pale and Draco realized he said that aloud.

“Oh, Merlin, I am so sorry,” he stammered. “I just ... Sometimes I forget you are not my friend and I should not say things like that. I apologize.”

“No, it’s ... It’s fine,” Hermione said, stunned herself. “We are friends, though, are we not?”

“Right until the moment we get sent back to our proper world and you go back to actively avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she admitted. “I thought maybe we could be friends and work together, like our doubles.”

“Our doubles have a different idea of what constitutes ‘working together.’”

“I like you, alright?” Hermione said. “We’ve been here a week and I know that if I was stuck here with anyone else I probably would have murdered them by now.”

“I am flattered,” Draco deadpanned.

“You should be,” Hermione insisted. “I believe that you are someone trying to do good, and that is admirable considering the world actively loves to hate you. I spent eight years of my life just the same. I trust you not to go out of your way to hurt me anymore, and I trust you to do what is best to get us out of here. I feel safe with you and I appreciate your confidence in me. Those are not things I will forget when we return to our universe, Draco, because those aren’t things you just decided to do here.”

Oh.

“Um, well, then I am flattered? You have more faith in me than I do.”

Hermione changed the subject and asked, “Do you have any rules for me?”

“Sure I do,” Draco answered. “No lecturing house-elves on their rights, no lecturing my friends about the rights of house-elves, and no trying to free the fucking elves.”

**.oOo.**

Draco wiped his hand on his trousers for the third time since they left Hermione’s house.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

What a nonsense question. Hermione’s double had selected quite the distracting outfit for this event; emerald green robes that came in at the waist then billowed out until they skimmed the ground. The neckline exposed the swell of her breasts and it had no sleeves, so Draco’s eyes kept darting from her tits to his name on her arm and back again. He saw his name there every day, but his whole world was about to see it too and it would no longer be their secret to share.

“I am fine, totally fine,” Draco said. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted backward from five before opening them again. He looked through the archway and saw the manor gardens as they would be on any other day, with no hint of the festivities that were already underway.

“We could still back out.”

“Where is the fun in that?” Hermione asked. She offered her hand and said, “Let’s go.”

Draco wiped off his hand once more then intertwined it with Hermione’s. He walked through the archway before he could think on it any longer. The moment they stepped through, the party revealed itself to be in full swing. There were circular tables everywhere draped in white tablecloths, each numbered and placed somewhere around a large circular dancefloor. Draco and Hermione were ushered to table number one.

This particular part of the garden was wide open space free of monuments or pathways. Tea candles floated overhead, more for decoration than light as it was five in the afternoon. Twelve gold chairs encircled each table and there were elaborate centerpieces made from roses and niffler’s fancy. He was surprised by the simplicity of it all. Ghouls and Roses would set up on the dancefloor after Theo’s toast, and until then it was mingling and champagne.

Hermione begrudgingly followed the house-elf, being sure to ask him plenty of questions and address him as “good sir.” Draco rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut; a public argument was not the way to start their fake life together. Once Draco caught sight of Bastien at the table, however, everything sort of fell into place.

“Malfoy!” Bastien pulled Draco into a hug and said, “Your mum outdoes herself every year.”

“Somehow,” Draco agreed.

And then the swarm of introductions began. Up next was some reporter from _Witch Weekly_ who noticed Draco and Hermione holding hands. She leered at Draco’s name on Hermione’s arm and asked,

“Are you two dating?”

“Yes,” Draco answered.

She looked delighted and motioned to the Quick Quotes Quill behind her.

“Where did you two meet?”

“The Hogwarts Express,” Hermione quipped before dragging Draco away.

He laughed but couldn’t say anything before they bumped into his parents. His mother looked gorgeous, as always. She wore pale pink robes in contrast to his father's jet-black robe, but the two of them were unmissable even in a crowd. Draco stepped the slightest bit in front of Hermione when he spotted his father approaching. Lucius greeted them with a tight smile.

“Draco ... and Miss Granger. What a _nice surprise._ ”

Hermione lifted her chin and met his gaze without flinching.

“I think you two look wonderful,” Narcissa said. She awkwardly patted Hermione on the shoulder and gave Draco a hopeful look.

He rolled his eyes and said, “Could the two of you be any weirder about this?”

“Our son left us to live with the Muggle-born girlfriend none of us knew he had,” Lucius Malfoy said. “You must excuse us for finding this more than a tad odd.”

Muggle-born girlfriend. _Muggle-born._ Draco’s father did not call her a Mudblood, and that was as good a start as any. Hermione thought so too, if the smile on her face was any indication.

“But you look happy, Draco,” Narcissa added, “and that is always enough for us. Right, Lucius?”

When he didn’t answer, Narcissa elbowed him in the side.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Your happiness is all we desire, my son.”

And Draco almost believed it.

“HERMIONE GRANGER!”

Draco knew that voice all too well. He turned around to see Astoria running at him full-force, with little Rose on her heels and Ronald fucking Weasley not far behind. Astoria hugged Hermione around the shoulders, being half-a-head taller.

“Thank you so much for bringing Draco back to us!”

Hermione looked over at Draco, confused.

“I didn’t know he had gone anywhere.”

“No,” Astoria said as she stepped away, “I meant giving him a reason to be himself again.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. She couldn’t find words for anything else.

“Did you like your house?” Astoria asked.

Hermione nodded.

“It was wonderful. Thank you so much for helping with that; I know Draco was delighted to spend time with you.”

“We are old friends,” Astoria said.

“And, oh, how we wish it could have been more.”

God, that voice made Draco’s blood boil. Mr. Greengrass came to join their little group, arm-in-arm with his wife. Astoria looked exactly like her mother, a blessing, really, as her father looked just as hateful as his soul. Draco turned to Hermione and said,

“I feel like some champagne, love. Would you go get me a glass?”

“What am I, your house-elf?” she asked, irritated.

Draco stepped closer to her and wordlessly begged her to understand this was not a conversation she wanted to partake in.

He slowly repeated, “Hermione, love, I am incredibly parched and would appreciate it if you would get us both some champagne.”

“And Ron will go with you!” Astoria said, pushing her husband toward the champagne and away from her parents.

“Yeah,” Weasley said. “I’m thirsty, anyhow.”

Hermione glared at Draco but fell into easy conversation with Weasley as they walked toward the drinks. He barely had time to turn around before Mr. Greengrass was spewing opinions about his relationship.

“I am sorry to see your son’s taste has not improved, Lucius,” he said.

Draco would have punched him if it wasn’t Theo’s party.

“At least Narcissa and I speak to one hundred percent of our children, Septimus,” Lucius countered. No love lost there, it appeared. That’s when Draco wondered ... Where was Daphne?

“If you have something to say about my girlfriend, Mr. Greengrass, I am happy to listen,” Draco challenged.

Astoria’s father sneered at him and said, “No, Malfoy, I believe you will get what is coming to you soon enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Draco asked.

Hermione and Weasley returned before he got an answer. Mrs. Greengrass looked rather worn down as she patted her husband’s arm and said,

“Septimus, I believe it is time that we move to other parts of the festivities.”

“Yes, my dear, I believe you are right. It smells like mud over here.”

Weasley grabbed Draco’s arm before his fist could connect with Mr. Greengrass’s nose. Astoria watched her parents walk away with a sad expression, and Draco wondered for a brief moment how someone so fucking good could come from such a hateful family. Weasley dropped his hold on Draco’s arm and said,

“I have been there more times than I can count with Tori’s dad, and it never goes well.”

Draco gritted his teeth together. He shook with rage and did not quite understand why until he looked over at Hermione. She was terrified. As well as she hid it, Draco had learned enough of her expressions to know she was masking fear. Hermione had enough sense to ask,

“Astoria, what did he mean when he said Draco would get what was coming to him?”

“I dunno, really,” Astoria said. “He says things like that sometimes.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was only one person Draco knew might be able to brighten her mood after that. Fortunately, he spotted Blaise and Dean hovering by the cake. Blaise looked effortlessly gorgeous, as always, and Dean Thomas ... Well, he looked comfortable and happy. Draco envied him for that.

“Blaise is dying to get into this cake,” Dean said.

They fell into easy conversation. Blaise and Draco watched, mostly, as Dean and Hermione laughed with each other about the ridiculousness of the party. Dean, whose only time at Malfoy Manor had been spent in the cellar, and Hermione, who had been tortured on the premises. Like she said, the war never really leaves.

“UNCLE DRACO!”

Draco’s smile fell. He knew that little voice, too. He slowly turned around to see Scarlett Nott dressed in her fanciest lilac robes. She ran over to hug his leg and pressed her cheek against his knee.

“UNCLE DRACO!”

He smiled and picked her up to sit her against his hip. Hoping and praying against all odds that she still loved him as much as he adored her.

“You look familiar to me, little one.”

“It’s me! Scarlett!”

“No,” Draco teased, “my Scarlett is far shorter than you.”

“It’s really me!” she insisted with a huge grin.

“Right, well, then I will ask you a question only my Scarlett would know how to answer. What is the story I always read to you before you go to bed?”

“The fountain!” Scarlett said.

“Yes, _The Fountain of Fair Fortune!_ ” Draco smiled. “I suppose you are my Scarlett after all. And that means I have a surprise for you.” He pulled a chocolate frog pack from the pocket of his robes and handed it to her. “Do not tell your father about this. He will have my head.”

Scarlett pressed one finger to her mouth and said, “Shh.”

“That’s right,” Draco said with a nod. He put her on the ground and said, “See you later, Scarlett.”

“Bye, Uncle Draco!!”

She waved at him and Draco grinned. Every fear he had about this world was nothing compared to the thought that his godchildren no longer loved him. He saw Hermione beaming out of the corner of his eye. He laughed and sighed in relief. Scarlett still loved him, godfather or not. He wiped the wetness out of his eyes and looked to the heavens in gratitude.

“Granger,” he said, “you were right.”

“I usually am,” she replied. “Now let’s go back to our seats before Theo makes his toast.”

It was by far the worst part of the party. Listening to Theo drone on about his wonderful family, their blessed life together, and all the boring shit no one wanted to listen to. But they applauded at all the appropriate intervals. Hermione listened with rapt attention, though.

“I knew I wanted to marry Tracey the moment she said—”

RIBBIT!

Everyone froze, not fully convinced they heard it.

RIBBIT!

A chocolate frog appeared at one end of the table. It hopped across, bounding along without a care in the world. Scarlett tugged on the tablecloth and pulled herself up onto the table as well. She crawled after it, and all two hundred guests could do nothing but watch as Scarlett threw herself on top of the frog. When she sat up ten seconds later, there was nothing left of it but small chocolate smears on her cheeks. Draco burst out in laughter and the rest of the party followed quickly after.

Theo turned to glare at Draco who said, “Look, mate, tell me this was not the most interesting part of your speech.”

“This is why Sebastien is my favourite,” Theo quipped half-heartedly. He turned back to the audience and said, “Fuck it. I love my wife and my kids. Now it’s time for you all to get completely sozzled!”

A roaring “YES!” came up from the crowd as they all migrated toward cake and champagne. Theo grabbed Draco by the arm, so he bent to kiss Hermione’s cheek and said,

“Stick with Padma and try to have fun.”

“Where are you going?”

“To spend some time with my family,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded. They would do the same for her soon enough. Draco followed Theo out of the gardens and into a small room inside the manor. Bastien and Blaise were already there, nestled into some armchairs.

Draco asked, “How the hell are you here already?”

“Pfft,” Bastien scoffed. “You didn’t think we’d stay there to listen to Theo drone on about how great his wife is for another ten minutes, did you?”

“Bastards,” Theo said without malice. He laughed and plopped down into a chair and motioned for Draco to do the same.

“Did you come to gossip, ladies?” Draco asked.

“Is it weird being at the party with Granger?” Blaise asked.

“No, it is far more strange having to tolerate Weasley’s presence now,” Draco admitted. “If I hear him call Astoria ‘Tori’ one more time, I might shove my wand so far up his arse he shits Knuts.”

“His family probably needs the money,” Bastien quipped.

They all laughed and Draco felt marginally shitty about it. But these were his closest friends, his family. Bastien, with his crude humour and quick wit. Blaise with his insight into Draco’s soul, and Theo with ... Well, everything else. When life got too rough, when Draco had hit rock bottom, these people were there for him and that made them family.

“How long have you been clean?” Theo asked.

“I relapsed a month ago,” Draco admitted, “but I stopped about five weeks or so before then.” It seemed to flow with his double’s timeline.

“I think Granger will be good for you,” Blaise said.

“I think she already is,” Theo countered.

“Tell us what it’s like, mate!” Bastien said, clapping Draco on the back.

“Yes, we want all the sordid details,” Blaise said before diving back into his piece of chocolate cake.

Theo kicked his feet up on an open chair and asked, “What do you think of her now that you’re together?” He always had the best questions. 

Draco pondered how to answer for a few seconds. The truth seemed to be the best way to go.

“She is so ... small.”

“Small?” Bastien repeated.

“Yeah,” Draco said, “because everything about her is so big. When she argues or gets upset it is like she takes up the whole room. Her hair is massive unless she’s just gotten out of the shower and she yells at me all the bloody time. However, when I hold her sometimes I wonder how so much power can fit into someone so tiny.”

“So you're fucking her?” Bastien asked.

Draco shook his head and admitted, “We are not quite there yet. Still some lingering issues to work out.”

“Like what?” Blaise asked through a mouthful of cake.

“When I thought about Hermione, it was always sex. I never gave any thought to what it would be like to date her. And she, well, she had someone very different in mind for her future. Former Death Eater never made the list.”

“Death Eater turned activist and philanthropist,” Bastien countered.

Theo asked, “How did you two turn things around?”

“I did something rather thoughtful, I suppose,” Draco said. “And she kissed me.”

“And ... ?”

“That is about all, really.”

They stared at him in disbelief, Blaise with his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Theo shook it off first.

“You’ve been living with those tits for weeks and haven’t done anything but snog her?”

“Great tits,” Bastien agreed.

“She woke me up from a nightmare once and they were right in my fucking face!” Draco said with a laugh. “But it’s not like that. If I got her pissed enough she would probably fuck me. I have caught her looking and I know she thinks I am attractive but I do not want ...” He sighed. “I do not want her to think sex is all I am good for.”

Blaise pointed his fork at Draco and said, “I knew that insecurity would come out somehow. Tits are not my area but I do know what it is like to fall in love with someone you know you don’t deserve.”

“I am not in love with her,” Draco insisted.

Bastien grinned and said, “He is barmy over her and doesn’t even know it.”

“I am not.”

“Well Dean and I—”

“Oh, God,” Bastien groaned.

“Not another one of these stories,” Theo begged. “I will listen to literally anything else.”

Blaise leaned back in his chair and said, “You two are just jealous my husband gives better head than your women do.”

“Not true!” Bastien insisted.

“I feel like you all lost the point of this conversation,” Draco interjected.

“Look,” Blaise said, “Dean is the best person I know. He is kind and understanding, reserves judgement until he has all the facts, and he tries to do right by everyone. No one on the planet would say a bad word against him because Dean has never looked at another person and thought he was better than them.”

Draco pointed out, “Hermione is the opposite of all that.”

“But you were never looking for Dean!” Blaise insisted. “You knew you wanted someone with strong morals and someone smarter than you. But most of all you wanted someone who would see the very worst things you’ve ever done and love you enough to look past all that. There is only one person who could ever meet all those criteria and it turns out the soul magic agrees.”

Other than the part about soul magic, Blaise was right. The curse itself put the two of them there together, hadn’t it? He could have wound up stuck with anyone, so why did it choose Hermione?

“He’s right,” Theo conceded.

“There is a problem,” Bastien said. “What happens when the Wizengamot passes the marriage ban? Would Granger still want to be with you?”

“We took care of that,” Draco revealed. “Five of the committee members are confirmed against it. They vote this Friday and the ban will be officially dead.”

Theo’s eyes went a little wet at the corners but Draco didn’t mention it. Theo pulled him into a hug and mumbled,

“Thank you.” He sniffled and said, “I was so worried. This means so much to me and Trace.”

“I know, Theo, I know,” Draco replied, patting his friend on the back. And he did know. He understood better than ever what it was like to fear losing a relationship that valuable.

“Let’s celebrate!” Bastien shouted as he leapt up from his chair. “With drinks!”

Blaise stood up as well and said, “Bastien finally has a good idea!”

All four of them walked back to the party, ears assaulted by some Ghouls and Roses tune Draco didn’t know. Halfway to the champagne, something whizzed past Draco’s side and he hissed in pain. He glanced down but everything was fine. His robe had been torn, but it did not look all that bad.

Blaise turned to ask, “Are you alright?”

Draco waved him off and said, “Something must have bitten me. I’ll speak to my mother later about pest control.”

Blaise shrugged, but that part on Draco’s side really hurt. He ignored it, grabbed a glass of champagne and downed half of it. Hermione appeared out of nowhere with Padma who asked,

“Where did you lot disappear to?”

“Had to find Blaise,” Bastien said. He kissed Padma on the cheek and said, “He got lost looking for cake.”

Draco felt a bit light-headed. Perhaps he chugged that champagne a bit too quickly. Hermione put her arms around his waist and said,

“Let’s dance!”

“Yeah, sure,” Draco mumbled. He handed his drink to Theo before saying, “I need to sit down first. Just a minute.”

Hermione got a confused look on her face and looked down at her hand, which was covered in red. Her eyes moved to Draco’s left side and all the colour left her face. He glanced down to see the rip in his robe was stained scarlet, and then his knees gave out.

“HELP!”

No one turned around at first, Hermione's voice lost in the thumping of the bass. She shouted again and some turned to look, but they must have been Stunned or something because no one moved. The grass was sharp against his neck and he winced.

“Shit.” Fortunately, Draco had fallen on his right side, but fell onto his back when he was unable to support himself any longer. “Not a bite.”

Hermione knelt on the ground next to him and screamed, “For the love of Merlin I need some help!”

“Someone aimed a curse at me and missed,” Draco huffed. His vision was going dark around the edges, like he was looking at the world through a telescope he couldn’t focus.

“They didn’t miss by enough,” Hermione said. She sliced his robes open to reveal a gash the width of three fingers along his left ribcage. “It appears your friends are fucking useless in a crisis. No wonder you all lost the goddamn war.”

Draco chuckled, and Merlin’s fucking ass his left side throbbed. Hermione mumbled a quick spell, presumably to stop the bleeding, then started barking orders at people.

“You, there is a Potions book in the library called _Disaster Draughts_ , bring it to me straightaway. You, fetch his mum and tell her to get me some Dittany! And you, call a bloody Healer now!”

Draco’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head as the voices around him muffled into one massive din he didn’t have the energy to decipher. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed as tightly as he could.

“Do not let me die here, Hermione.”

Everything went black.


	13. That's My Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #PlotPlotPlot and Romilda Vane ships it harder than any of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 15th, 2006.

_Only cowards curse from behind. Then again, hitwizards are just rejected Aurors, not exactly known for their intellect or adherence to protocol._

_Draco is at the party, the sounds of “Every Snarfalump Has Its Thorn” blaring throughout the gardens. Bastien is at his right, Blaise and Theo are a metre up ahead. He can see where the festivities rage on, the manor itself hardly separated from the party. Draco walks down the stairs to the garden. Step one, step two, step three, step four. Draco had taken this walk for more than two decades and he does not even need to look down. It is a ten-metre walk before they hit the edge of the party, and it is about two metres away when Draco feels the bite._

_Not really a bite, though. The curse whizzes by and his left side is sliced apart like cheese. Not_ Sectumsempra; _Draco knows what that feels like and this is different. He feels blood seep out of the wound as he tells Blaise not to worry._

_Then everything stops. His friends go still around him, halfway through steps with their feet suspended midair. The noise from the party fades away and Draco needs Hermione. He knows he needs her. Draco presses his hand into his side and slowly turns around to see empty robes floating a few metres away. No one is there; just a nondescript robe covering an invisible body. He yells for help and everything goes black ..._

_Only cowards curse from behind. Draco makes his way to the party with Bastien at his right, Theo and Blaise a metre in front. Step one, step two, step three, step four without looking down. They walk eight metres before Draco feels the bite._

_It is not really a bite, though, the longer he thinks about it. More like someone had attacked his side with a white-hot knife. Draco takes a few more steps and feels blood gushing from the wound. He presses his hand against it and turns around to see the Dark Lord standing there, wand aloft, a cruel grin exposing his unicorn blood-stained teeth._

_Draco huffs, “Give it the hell up!” before he falls to the ground and everything goes black._

_Draco is at the party again. He is stung eight metres away from the manor. He presses his hand to his side and winces as he turns to face his attacker. Standing there, wand held aloft, is Draco’s very own (fake) girlfriend._

_“Hermione?” Draco asks before the world goes black. That didn’t feel right._

_Draco is at the party again. He winces, presses his hand against his side, and turns around to see ..._

_Ron Weasley._

_Draco is at the party again. He winces, presses his hand against his side and turns around to see ..._

_Mr. Greengrass?_

_MacMillan?_

_Potter?_

_Fenrir Greyback?_

_Aunty Bella?_

_Draco turns around once more to see an empty robe._

**.oOo.**

He opened his eyes to a white ceiling, but not his white ceiling.

“Oh, my son, you are awake!”

Draco was surprisingly relieved to hear his father’s voice. There were only two possibilities: he was either alive or in the deepest circle of Hell. He assumed Hell did not come with bandages like the one he felt covering half his left side. Then the pain hit and Draco groaned.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“Your mother and I were terribly frightened.”

“And Hermione?” Draco asked. He rolled his head to the left just in time to see his father’s eyeroll.

“Yes, your little Muggle-born is quite resourceful. Since the Ministry refuses to grant Healer certifications to CODE members, there were no Healers on hand at the party. She knew exactly what book she needed, however, and exactly where it was in the library.”

Draco smiled and said, “That’s my girl.”

His father spun his cane between his fingers and refused to meet Draco’s gaze. Lucius Malfoy loved his cane, even though it no longer hid a wand. It was an inextricable part of him, an extension of a limb.

“Do you plan to see this through?” Lucius asked.

“You wish to know whether I plan to marry her?” Draco confirmed.

His father nodded, still staring at the floor.

“You forget that I am not the only one in this partnership,” Draco said. “Yes, father, I would like to marry Hermione.” And he paused because in that moment it hadn’t been a lie. “However, she would need to say yes and I can think of five times as many reasons for her to say no.”

“You did not see her, my son.”

“See her when?”

Draco’s father pulled his hair out of its ponytail, and Draco realized this conversation was about to take an unexpected turn. Lucius Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke.

“She would not let anyone near you except your mother. That bloody little chit saved your life and protected you. I have no doubt that had anyone attempted to defy her wishes she would have hexed them to tears, or worse.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, his voice still a little weak, “that’s my girl.”

“When I spoke with your mother about it, we both agreed you should have had someone who cared that much for you in Hogwarts. Your mother pointed out you would have fewer scars if that was the case. We saw the way you were with the Greengrass girl, but this is different. The Granger girl cares about you in a way that, candidly, your mother and I never thought you would have.”

“Candidly, father,” Draco spat, “maybe no one could ever love me because all they see when they look at me is you.”

Lucius Malfoy pursed his mouth into a thin line. Draco smiled, closed his eyes, and rolled his head to once again rest properly against the pillow.

“Where am I, anyhow?”

“St. Mungo’s,” Lucius said. “Isolation wing, to help prevent any more attempts on your life. Something I find far less pleasing as your waking minutes drag on.”

“Must remind you of the first seventeen years of my life, then,” Draco quipped.

His father sighed, exasperated. Draco was surprised he had waited two minutes without somehow calling Draco a disappointment.

“I truly value your happiness, my son. This girl is remarkable and the world adores her. Your mother and I talked it over and we agreed she can move into the manor. We will not stand in the way of this ‘partnership’ as you call it.”

“You would do that?” Draco asked, surprised.

“Well if the soul magic says she is the best for you—”

“Oh, is that it?!” Draco shouted. He winced as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “This is what you do, father, you look to higher power to rationalize things you consider unpleasant. I thought at least here you might—” He stopped, catching himself before he revealed too much.

“I might what?” Lucius asked.

“I mistakenly believed you might finally trust my decisions and recognize I understand what I am doing. How fucking naive.”

“Draco, you can hardly blame me as you have a terrible history of decision-making.”

“Because I learned from you!” Draco paused and placed his fingers against his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and winced in pain when he opened them again. “I like Hermione very much and one day soon I might even love her. If she feels even the slightest bit the same about me then I would be mad not to marry her, soulmate or not. You can tell mother that Hermione and I will continue living in her house until you get your head out of your ass.”

“Do not speak to me—”

“I think it best you leave,” Draco said. “Now.”

**.oOo.**

He was doodling Time-Turners on some parchment when the Healer walked in.

“Pleased to see you are awake, Malfoy.”

“You are not here to kill me?” Draco asked, only half-joking.

“No,” the Healer shook his head and tightened his hold on the clipboard. “My soulmate is a CODE member so I rather hope you stay alive awhile longer.”

Another person depending on him. Draco took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He winced at the pain in his left side. He was hardly any help in this state.

“Who is your soulmate, if I may ask?”

“Lila van Ravensway.”

“Oh, Merlin, she is wonderful,” Draco said with a smile. “She told me this joke once about a Troll and a Puffapod that nearly sent me into a fit.”

“She is hilarious,” the Healer conceded. “One of the reasons I fell in love with her. Normally Healer protocol is to keep you another night for observation, but since you live with Hermione Granger we agreed to release you. Figure if anything terrible happens you have the best in crisis management.”

“How do you know I am staying with Hermione?” Draco asked. It was a rather intimate thing to know, and another incredulous step to be believed.

“She told us when she brought you in. We were all a bit surprised to see your names on each other’s arms. Could hardly miss it, though, since she refused to let go of your hand. Anyhow, your mother brought over some clothes since yours are torn and bloodstained. The Healer team in the Maeve Ward is working on a salve for your wound and should have it over to Miss Granger’s house by the end of the day.” He handed the t-shirt and jeans to Draco then turned his back.

Draco pulled off his hospital gown and grimaced at the soaking red bandage on his side. Once clothed, he tried to stand but fell backward onto the bed a moment after his feet hit the ground.

“Oh, right,” the Healer said. “You lost a lot of blood, Mister Malfoy, and the cut on your side kept growing even as we stopped the bleeding. We only stopped it about five hours ago, it was like the curse just kept eating away at you. None of us had ever seen anything like it; had to call the Chief Healer down. The curse itself has been contained but there is weakness throughout the full left side of your body right now.”

Draco stared at the floor, contemplating how close to death he had been. How close to useless he still was. Thank Merlin that Hermione had kept her head about her.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Four.”

“I’ve been out nine hours?”

“No, sir, it is four in the afternoon. You have been unconscious for about twenty-two hours.”

Draco paused for a moment then asked, “I know there are people who want to hurt Hermione, but why come after me?”

“Well, anyone who saw you together probably knows you’re in love—”

“Not in love,” Draco insisted.

The Healer laughed and said, “Sure. But I know that if someone wanted to hurt me, they would go after Lila. And if someone wanted to hurt, Hermione Granger, they would go after the person she cares about most. By the looks of things, she cares a hell of a lot about you.”

Of course she did, because they were each other’s ticket out of this cursed place. Not because there was anything else ... Was there?

“Oh! Before I forget, your father left this for you. You’ll need it for a few days until you regain the strength in your left side.”

Any doubt Draco had about this world being a curse vanished when the Healer offered him a familiar black cane.

**.oOo.**

Draco Apparated into Hermione’s foyer a bit after six and slowly made his way into the living area. He smiled at the white dragon in its frame, which lifted its head and nodded in reply. The Healer warned Draco the cane would take some getting used to, but Draco didn’t have another option. He would have his own cane made back home; he was more determined than ever to make it back to a world that was not actively trying to kill him. The Healer said Draco should be off it entirely within a week, but he was not so optimistic. The curse was still inside him, he could feel that magic the same way he felt his own but it was entirely contained within his left abdomen.

Draco turned the corner to see Hermione huddled at one end of the dining table with Romilda Vane. Romilda wore a high-necked red shirt that clung to her every curve, and Draco briefly wondered how someone so good and attractive as hell hadn’t ended up with a soulmate. Draco waddled his way over to them, slowly but steadily: right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. He gritted his teeth until he was able to plop into a chair at the middle of the table. He looked over at Hermione and said,

“Hell of a first date.”

“Most of the near-death experiences with Ron happened before we got together. I suppose you and I needed to make up for lost time,” Hermione quipped. God, it was so great to see her. She had been so calm in the face of all this, it was difficult not to be the same.

Then Romilda placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Do the two of you remember last week when you came to see me and I said you were looking at everything the wrong way? Do you remember that I told you ‘the universe is trying to tell you something?’ How do you two keep missing the obvious?!”

“Blood loss?” Draco quipped. “I am doing fine, thank you for asking.”

Romilda glared at him and Hermione laughed.

“The universe is screaming at you!” Romilda pointed at Hermione and said, “A hitwizard isn’t an assassin, not unless they need to be. They have an objective to accomplish. What has Hermione done within the past few months that would anger the Ministry?”

“I joined CODE.”

“To help end the marriage ban,” Draco added.

“Exactly!” Romilda shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “The objective is just to remove the ban’s opposition. At first it was just Hermione because she’s the biggest name you have in your favour. Without her, you are only half as effective.”

“Oi!” Draco insisted, “I am plenty effective on my own.”

“Not against the Wizengamot,” Romilda replied. “You needed her, but all of a sudden it’s revealed you two are soulmates. Hermione sees her soulmate is threatened so she agrees to join his organization. Once you two came out as a couple, one action solved two problems.”

Hermione’s face did that thing where she thought really hard and stared at the table like it was slowly spelling out the answer. The table itself was covered with bits of parchment, at least seventy of them, each with a person’s name scribbled on it.

“If someone killed Draco, CODE would crumble and the Death Eaters’ only union with it,” she reasoned out. “They would no longer have a united opposition to anything the Ministry wanted to do.”

“Theo might be able to run things,” Draco said, knowing it was a lie.

“No, CODE is all you,” Hermione said. “That was all I knew about it until we landed here together. It is Draco Malfoy’s organization. You are the reason it is effective. Since you are my soulmate, if they got rid of you, perhaps they believed I wouldn’t fight against the ban because I had no reason to.”

“Then they do not know you at all,” Draco said.

Hermione blushed and Romilda smiled.

“You two are adorable, but no. When your soulmate dies it’s different. Here, let me find it ...” Romilda picked up her book from one of the chairs and flipped through until she found the right page. “‘When a soulmate dies, it is like missing a sunset and knowing the sun will never rise again. The world is a darker place and there are days when survival seems all but impossible. The most you can ever hope for is the twinkling light of stars full galaxies away, for even the moon needs the sun to shine.’”

Hermione said something but Draco wasn’t listening. Losing Astoria had been painful, and seeing her in this world with Weasley felt like losing her all over again. He was not lying when he told Hermione it felt like his soul had been ripped down the middle, but it could be mended. He always knew there was something better. Losing Astoria never felt like what Romilda described.

“—so they believed I would be too grief-stricken because they think I lost my soulmate.”

“No, Hermione, they don’t just think it!” Romilda grabbed Hermione’s left arm and said, “Draco Malfoy is your soulmate. His name is there on your arm and it won’t come off. Just because the two of you chose each other does not make it less valid. As long as you are here, you are soulmates and it is about time the two of you realize what that means.”

“It means he is a target,” Hermione said, wrenching her arm away.

“Nothing new there,” Draco quipped.

“Merlin help me,” Romilda said, tossing her arms in the air. She cracked her neck and said, “Let’s get started on something the two of you actually understand. We know the Wizengamot is facilitating this, and there are only two people who have enough pull to get a marriage ban through: the Minister and the Chief Sorceress.”

“Who is the Chief Sorceress?” Draco asked.

Romilda wordlessly Summoned a scrap of parchment and said, “Susan Bones, of course.” She raised an eyebrow and wondered, “Is it not the same where you come from?”

“No. Susan would not do this,” Draco insisted. “I know her; she is a good friend. She would never ruin peoples’ lives like this.”

“The Bones family is a Wizengamot legacy. Susan has been Chief Sorceress for four years now. If she really wanted to put a stop to something, she would, but she has yet to stop the marriage ban. She wants this bill to pass.”

“Why would Susan want something like this? She knows me, hell, she and Pans are closer than I am to Bastien! They are family.”

Romilda placed the scrap of parchment on the table and said, “Her husband and soulmate, Zacharias Smith, died about six months ago.”

“So she is in pain,” Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Her whole family was murdered by Death Eaters. What if she wants everyone associated with Voldemort to know what it feels like to lose that much?”

Romilda nodded and added, “This Susan is different from the one you know, and we have to figure out who would use her like this.”

Hermione guessed, “It was someone at the party. A hitwizard would have needed someone already there in order to get inside.”

Romilda waved her hand and forty of the parchment pieces slid up to the front of the table. Draco and Hermione leaned forward to read them as Romilda said,

“These are all the people with the resources to get to Susan and who attended the Notts’ anniversary party.”

“No,” Draco insisted, shaking his head. “I know everyone there and most of them are married. Blaise is not a CODE member but he is not the sort to do anything like this. Much less kill me, he is one of my best friends. Padma is not engaged to Bastien yet, but only because he is convinced she deserves better. And he is not wrong, but Padma loves him. The rest of these people are CODE members and their marriages would be destroyed if the ban were to take effect.”

“Then we are looking for someone whose marriage is not as firm as we think it is,” Hermione offered.

“No ...” Draco trailed off. “But something is not right here. We will figure it out, Hermione. But Romilda, where is Daphne Greengrass?”

“Oh!” Romilda’s eyes lit up. “Haven’t you heard? Before the two of you, it was the biggest scandal of the new millennium. Her soulmate was a Muggle!”

“Really?” Draco asked. “She held true to the Old Ways as long as I knew her.”

“Soulmates make people do the strangest things, Draco Malfoy,” Romilda said. “A fact you and Hermione should be intimately familiar with by now.”

“How did her parents feel about that?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, they hated it, tried to break them up a number of different ways. Daphne’s soulmate was an American, so they eloped and now they live in New York. Astoria visits them every year, but her parents excommunicated Daphne.”

“Hmm ...” Draco stared at the Mr. Greengrass and Mrs. Greengrass pieces lying about on the table. “The strangest things, indeed.”

**.oOo.**

Draco ended the day as he began it, staring up at a white ceiling. He wondered how Susan Bones could have been led so astray. Hell, she endorsed CODE back home and other than Potter she was their best ally. There was a gentle knock on his door and Draco groaned but didn’t move.

“It is your house; you do not have to knock, Granger.”

She slowly wandered into his room, and it felt strange calling it his room. It was meant to be a guest room, but he had slowly taken over the space during the past two weeks until it couldn’t be anything else. He was still staring at the ceiling when he felt the foot of the bed dip.

“Your friend, Theo, is the only one of you lot that is worth much when things get rough,” Hermione said. “He found a Healer and I only needed to tend to you myself for about five minutes. Any longer and I’m not sure what we could have done.”

“Theo deserves more credit than he gets. He is a good family man, something I can only ever dream of being. Seb and Scarlett are practically my whole world, but Theo and Tracey are the ones who raise them to be that way. Good kids.”

“That’s my point. You are all about family, and right now you are practically all I have. I didn’t want to be alone here and I know I can’t find my way home on my own. What if you die, Draco? You almost died because of me, and I can’t live with that!”

“Careful, Granger, it almost sounds like you care about me.”

“I do care about you,” she admitted, “and that is the problem. My name on your arm makes you a target.”

“Try not to flatter yourself, Hermione, the world hated me long before you came into the picture. Hell, I gave them good reasons to.”

“I suppose that’s true. In any case, the salve for your wound just arrived and I thought I should help put it on.”

Draco shrugged and said, “Feel free.” He gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position and lifted his t-shirt to reveal the bandage which was soaked nearly to the edges.

“The cut is far bigger than it was when I left you,” Hermione observed. The deepest part of the wound was about thirty centimetres long and half as wide. She slowly peeled the bandage back and Draco didn’t feel anything, but he saw her shocked expression and knew it didn’t look good. Hermione covered her mouth with one hand and looked away.

“That bad?” Draco asked.

“I ... I’m so sorry, Draco,” Hermione said, her throat thick with unshed tears. “I should have watched more carefully, should have been more prepared—”

“For a curse you knew nothing about?” Draco asked. He looked down and even he had to admit it looked awful. It was as if someone had taken a giant ice cream scoop and decided Draco no longer needed the middle portion of his left side. The edges of skin surrounding the wound were black and he could see several centimetres inside himself, down to his ribcage. Everything vital appeared to be held in by a counter-curse. Draco thought back to the Healer whose name he never even though to ask. He thought about Lila van Ravensway and Theo and everyone else whose way of life depended on him.

“I am alive, Hermione, and that is enough for me right now.”

“I know about the curse,” she revealed. “I had Romilda over to help research; she is surprisingly adept at finding information. She found it in one of my books on ancient magic, _Pellis Mordeo_ but they call it the Slow Death. The curse eats away at your flesh, so while it begins as nothing more than a small bite it can devour enough of your body to kill you in less than a day.”

“Great,” Draco deadpanned, “that is terrifying. The person who did this did not miss at all.”

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled Draco’s t-shirt up once again. She grimaced as she unscrewed the salve bottle, but the moment she leaned closer she shifted into the same state Draco saw just before he blacked out.

“How do you shut everything else out like that?” Draco asked.

Hermione squinted at the deepest part of his wound and said, “I have to concentrate and I can’t do that if I am thinking about other things.”

Her fingers were gentle against his skin. Hermione shifted on the bed to get a better view and it was strangely intimate, the way she was looking inside his chest. She ignored the tips of the Sectumsempra scars peeking out from beneath his shirt. Hermione must have seen them but said nothing. She tipped the bottle and Draco winced as the first droplets landed. She dabbed at the cut and apologized when he grimaced at the contact. Draco looked away, concentrating on the feeling of her hands against him instead of the pain. He was growing increasingly comfortable beneath her touch. It seemed like ages before Hermione sat up and screwed the stopper into the bottle. She grabbed a new bandage and said,

“At the party, for example, if I had thought for even a moment about the possibility of you dying ... I would have broken down into a thousand pieces and have been of no use to you.”

As she pressed the bandage against his side, Draco asked, “When did you finally stop to think about it?”

“When they pulled me out of your room at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione admitted as she began taping him up. “About a half hour later I saw the Chief Healer come down and I knew it was bad. They suggested I leave and ... And ... I shouldn’t have. I wanted to be there when you woke up but there was a real possibility that you wouldn’t, and I could not handle it on my own. I owled the only person who knew how much losing you would mean to me.”

“Hermione, I want you to understand this is not your fault,” Draco insisted.

She finished up with the tape and pulled his shirt down.

“All I have is logic and knowledge, and it wasn’t enough to save you myself,” Hermione said. “How the hell can I protect you if that is the case?”

“It is not your responsibility to protect me,” Draco replied.

“But I want to.”

“Why?”

Hermione shrugged and didn’t answer. Draco thought it might always be like that with her. She had grown the slightest bit fond of him and was terrified to admit it. Draco tucked some hair behind her ear then leaned back on his pillows.

“Astoria seems genuinely happy here, so I keep thinking about what ‘someone better’ might look like for me. I think maybe they are strong-willed and courageous, a real lifesaver type.”

Hermione grinned.

“When I think of someone better than Ron, I think of a man who helps me focus, even when their life is at stake.”

“Perhaps when the hole in my side is a bit smaller I will be able to properly thank you for saving my life then,” Draco teased.

“I look forward to it.”

Hermione squeezed his hand once before standing up to leave. When she was halfway to the door, Draco yelled after her.

“If they were willing to do all this to push the marriage ban through, do you think there is any way the vote goes in our favour tomorrow?”

Hermione shook her head.

“You have been around enough politicians to know we never had a chance.”


	14. The Vote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you too, Susan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 16th, 2006.
> 
> TW for prior injury.  
> TW for coarse language.  
> TW for sappy quasi-declarations of love.

Draco stared into his closet. Rather, Hermione’s guest closet. The moments he considered himself at home in her house were rapidly increasing in frequency.

He could not stand long enough for a shower so he drew himself a bath. The water was just on the right side of scalding when Draco sank into it. Once the bandage and tape softened enough, he slowly peeled it away and tossed it on the floor where it landed with a loud squelch. Draco got his first good look at the gaping hole in his side and grimaced.

Potter ripping his chest open was horrific, but it was different. Those were scratches, slices, straight lines that cut through him with ambivalence. The Slow Death, as Hermione called it, was far more intimate. The curse had hit him in the side, as close as it could get to his heart. Draco could literally see inside himself and gagged at the visual. He was missing parts of three ribs and Merlin only knew how much muscle. Draco hesitantly pressed two fingers on the edge of the wound and felt nothing. The skin there was dead. He slowly moved his fingers inward and winced, but the warm water soothed a bit of the pain. The wound was as wide and deep as his fist and, for the first time since he landed in this world, Draco was truly afraid. This was not something Hermione could fix.

They could regrow his ribs. The Healers could fix most of him, but the curse was still there taking its toll. His left side was weaker than it had been the day before. The counter-curse was using Draco’s energy to combat the Slow Death and he was fading. He took a deep breath and submerged himself entirely below the water. Time moved slowly down there and Draco desperately needed more time. But he rose up and grabbed the shampoo bottle.

Next thing he knew, he was staring into the closet.

“I doubt what you wear will matter much.”

Draco jumped when he heard Hermione’s voice behind him. He grabbed the first t-shirt he saw and pulled it over his head before turning around, unwilling to weather the scrutiny of his scars. Hermione was dressed just the same, a t-shirt and jeans, holding the salve and a bandage.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You are right anyway,” Draco replied. “I will wear this, no use getting dressed up for this farce.”

“Shall I?” Hermione asked as she held up the salve bottle.

Draco nodded and they took their places on his bed. She worked quicker this time but it still hurt like hell. As she screwed the stopper back into the bottle, Hermione admitted,

“It is harder for me to lock reality away today.”

Draco bit down on his lip for a moment and asked, “Will you do me a massive favour?”

“Anything.”

“I need you to make me an appointment at St. Mungo’s no later than tomorrow.”

 

“Consider it done.”

**.oOo.**

They were the last to arrive at the hearing room. Scheduled at two o’clock, Draco and Hermione arrived at 1:55. It felt far more personal than the last time he was there. Last time was only a negotiation about his friends’ happiness. Now they were threatening to take away Draco’s soulmate, something that hadn’t existed two weeks prior. Sure, Hermione was not actually his soulmate. No ancient magic chose to bind them together ... Except it had.

Hermione held out her hand and asked, “Are you ready?’

“Only if you are, love.”

Draco took her hand in his free one and they slowly walked inside together. Draco with more of a hobble than a walk. Everyone appeared surprised to see him. Draco supposed his near-death would have made the gossip rounds by then. They eyed his cane warily, another thing to bind him to his father as if his face didn’t do that well enough.

It was the same room with the same people in the same seats. Except, Chiara Lobosca had taken Draco’s seat at the end furthest from the door. Susan Bones sat at the other end and Draco smiled at her. She frowned in response and Draco finally realized this was not the Susan he knew. Her hair was tightly wound in a knot at the back of her head. She wore the high-collared navy robes of the Chief Sorceress, which looked so foreign on her. The Susan Bones that Draco knew never wanted to be on the Wizengamot, much less Chief Sorceress. She wanted to fight on the ground, to be an Auror, to make change with her own hands.

This was not Susan.

Rowan Khanna sat to her left and Percy Weasley kept minutes at her right. The only open chairs were on opposite sides of the table, so Hermione helped Draco walk to the chair between Angelica Cole and Ernie MacMillan. He lowered himself gently into the chair and felt the bandage tape strain against his skin. He bit down against the pain and hissed when he caught his tongue in the process.

“Ah, fuck.”

Chiara leaned forward and asked, “Are you going to make it through the meeting, Malfoy?”

“Well, that depends on you lot, doesn’t it?” Draco quipped.

“You did not dress appropriately,” Penny Haywood observed.

“The last time we were in this building we ended up in a holding cell,” Hermione replied. She placed her hand on Draco’s shoulder and said, “Thought we would wear something a bit more comfortable this time, just in case.”

“We have names if you all wish to check,” Draco added. “It would be a shame to arrest us without cause again.”

No one seemed to have a response to that. Draco placed his hand over Hermione’s for a moment.

“Thanks, love.”

“Are you good here?” she asked, a bit worried.

“Yes,” Draco said. Not that he believed it. He could tell by Hermione’s face that she didn’t either, but made her way around the table anyway.

“We are pleased you are able to join us, Draco,” Susan said, sounding like she meant exactly the opposite. “You as well, Hermione.”

“Why are you here?” Draco asked, malice coating his words.

“The Chief Sorceress is present for votes on all major legislation.”

Right. She was there to ensure the vote went her way. Intimidation through the presence of power; he was familiar with that tactic. It is far more difficult to defy your boss to their face, after all. Susan straightened in her chair and adjusted the parchment in front of her.

“I now call this meeting of the Wizengamot Legislative Committee to order. As all nine members are in attendance we will not read off the roll. The purpose of this meeting is to vote on Wizengamot Bill 8725: The Reclassification of Marriage Act, colloquially known as the ‘marriage ban.’ I will now read aloud from the finalized text of the legislation: 

> **Due to** the toxic history of followers of the Dark Lord, and
> 
> **Due to** the lack of repercussions faced by many of his ardent supporters, and
> 
> **Due to** the continued animosity of former death eaters,
> 
> The Wizengamot council of Great Britain hereby declares that all marriages including a Death Eater or the child of a Death Eater are void and unions already established will hereby be dissolved.”

There were several seconds of silence around the table.

“Now, we have the chief opposition here for final discussion. Draco, you have the floor first for your argument.”

“There is no argument,” Draco countered. “Either I have the right to love someone or I do not. Either every human has the right to love, or they do not. I believe that they do, and the government does not get to define that. Even if this God-forsaken Skrewtshit bill is made into law, do you truly believe you will end romance for Death Eaters? Do you think the law is more powerful than love?”

“No,” Susan answered. “But that is not the purpose of this. It is my understanding that this legislation will serve as punishment to those who aided the Dark Lord during the war. Revoking privileges they took from so many others.”

“You know," Draco said, "Scarlett and Sebastien are the children of my best friend, Theo. Theodore Nott, yes, son of the notorious Death Eater who was a foul bastard most of Theo’s life. Theo, who never considered embracing the traditional Pureblood ways. Theo, who loves his family more than I have ever seen anyone care for anything. Are you planning to punish Scarlett and Sebastien for being the grandchildren of a Death Eater? They had the same amount of choice in the matter as Theo.”

“I suppose that is an issue to be decided at a later time,” Ernie said.

“No!” Draco insisted, “it is not! This is an all-or-nothing play here. Either you plan to ruin the family lines of every Death Eater or you don’t. Either you will punish people who have done nothing wrong, or you won’t. Pick a fucking side! Take a moment to consider who you are hurting.”

Penny Haywood said, “The intended targets of this bill are—”

“Allow yourselves a moment of honesty,” Draco said. He huffed and shifted to lean more against his right side. “The target of this bill is me. You will punish thousands of people just to make sure the Malfoy line dies with me. No need, I have done a hell of a job of it myself. Dissolve all the unions you want. If the Dark Lord himself failed to rip my parents apart, you lot have no chance in hell. The same goes for Theo and Tracey, for Weasley and Astoria, and there is nothing in this world that will pull me away from Hermione.”

Angelica Cole’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and Chiara smirked from the end of the table. Hermione smiled at him like she knew it was the truth.

“Nothing except that,” Ernie said, nodding to Draco’s left side.

“Anyhow,” Susan said, not wanting to linger on the topic of Slow Death. “That was a very impassioned argument, Draco. I appreciate your input.”

Fuck you too, Susan.

“Are there any additional questions for Malfoy, here?”

“How many people do you represent in CODE?” Ernie asked. “I forget the total.”

“Two thousand two hundred and eighty-one at last count,” Draco answered.

The colour drained from Ernie’s face as he said, “We would be ruining the lives of two thousand people?”

“Plus non-CODE members who wish to marry one. Plus any children they may have, so I would double it to be on the safe side.”

“Moving to Miss Granger,” Susan hurried along. “What have you to say before the vote?”

Hermione asked, “Do you plan to punish me twice?”

No one responded and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Since Draco Malfoy, my soulmate, was both a Death Eater and the son of a Death Eater, do you plan to punish me twice? Do you intend to rip my arm off so you cannot see his name on my skin any longer? Draco is right; there is nothing in the world that will separate us, not even being arrested by the Ministry.”

“We will issue an official apology for that,” Susan said.

“Two days ago, I was at a party with my soulmate. We are still getting to know each other in a way, but I felt like he was finally introducing me to his world. Really starting to make me part of his life. I asked him to dance and the next thing I knew, my hand was covered in slick red liquid. I was confused at first, because it looked like blood but it couldn’t be. I don’t remember much after that. I realized it was Draco’s blood right as he fell to the ground. No one noticed because no one really sees when Draco is in pain, do they? I called out for help, gave instructions, but ... That was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

“So I wish to know what you mean in the legislation by ‘lack of consequences.’ Draco nearly died because the Ministry refuses to grant Healer certifications to anyone remotely associated with the Dark Lord. My soulmate nearly died! Do you understand?! I had to watch as a curse ate away at his skin. It is not just Draco that your prejudice hurts, it is me, too. It is Ron. It is all of us because you force us to live in two completely different realities. If you vote for this bill, Draco's blood is on your hands, too.”

Silence.

Holy shit. Holy fucking Hippogriff shit. Draco could only offer her a soft smile when she glanced his way. He wasn’t in love yet, but goddamn he was close. She said it so easily, so passionately that he almost believed it was real.

“And what of the blood on his hands?” Susan asked. “And his father’s?”

“I never killed anyone,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

“You benefited from those who did,” Susan countered. “Now, we will take the vote in alphabetical order by surname. Committee members are to respond with ‘aye’ or ‘nay.’ First, Ali, Badeea.”

“Wait!” MacMillan interrupted. He turned to Hermione and asked, “You don’t actually plan on marrying Malfoy, do you?”

Draco held his breath; even he was desperate to hear Hermione’s answer.

“He hasn’t asked me yet,” she said. She turned to look at Draco and added, “But he knows what my answer would be if he did.”

“I am sure as hell not going to drop down on one knee in here, love,” Draco teased.

“Still, I am just waiting on you, babe.”

Draco wished he had a photograph of everyone’s shocked faces. They had all believed it was fake. They weren’t wrong, not really, but there was enough truth in their relationship to convince their audience.

“We can’t break up Hermione’s marriage,” Ernie insisted.

“They’re not married,” Susan quipped. “Badeea, Ali?”

“Aye.”

And so it began.

“Cole, Angelica.”

“Nay.”

She received a stern look from Susan. The one-to-one odds gave Draco a brief flicker of hope. Perhaps they were wrong and their efforts would prevail after all. Angelica nodded at him as if to say, _I was always on your side._

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin.”

“Aye.”

“Haywood, Penny?”

“Aye.”

“Khanna, Rowan?”

He couldn’t answer at first. Rowan considered it. He looked at Hermione, looked at Draco, then finally back at Susan. He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but no words came out.

“Rowan?” she repeated.

“Aye.”

Hermione gasped and Rowan stared resolutely at his lap. He refused to look at Hermione, the betrayal evident on her face. Draco was surprised she didn’t hex him.

“Lobosca, Chiara.”

“Nay.”

She nodded toward Draco in solidarity and he mouthed _Thank you._

“MacMillan, Ernie.”

“If someone like Hermione can fall for Malfoy, then maybe we have been looking at this wrong. Who is to say this won’t just make everyone hate each other more? Isn’t that the exact opposite of what we are trying to accomplish?”

Susan demanded, “Say your vote, Ernie!”

“Nay,” he said. “I vote nay.”

Susan glared at him as well.

“Truman, Gabriel?”

“Aye.”

Draco hadn’t realized how much hope he had until it evaporated. Five aye votes left him feeling strangely empty, a hole that quickly filled with a dangerous cocktail of failure and despair.

“Weasley, Percy.”

“Abstain.”

“With three nays, five ayes, and one abstention the bill passes and will be brought in front of the Wizengamot for oral arguments in no less than two months’ time. This meeting is adjourned.”

**.oOo.**

They stood in Hermione’s foyer for a minute, processing their loss. Hermione looked over at the painting on the wall where the dragon had stood up and begun to pace. Hermione smiled at it.

“He guards the entry,” Draco observed.

“He makes me feel just a bit safer. Like he can see things we can’t.” She turned to face him and said, “We will continue to fight and we will win this, Draco. I promise.” Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his arm but Draco pulled away.

“You cannot promise me that.”

“I just have to find the right argument—”

“There is no argument!” Draco shouted.

Hermione paused and stepped closer. Draco wanted to step away, but all the fight seemed to leave him when Hermione took his free hand in hers. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand.

“You have more faith in me than this. Tell me what is truly wrong, Draco.”

He didn’t want to. He shouldn’t scare her, hell, it terrified him. But she deserved to know.

“I cannot feel anything from the bottom of the wound to the top of my left knee. Walking is more difficult today than it was yesterday. Whatever counter-curse they used is feeding off my magic and I only have so much to give. Given enough time, this curse will still manage to eat me alive.”

“I will take you to St. Mungo’s tomorrow,” Hermione insisted. “All the top Healers will be there, including Chief Healer Battlehunt. You are going to be okay.”

“But what if I’m not?” Draco asked. “How many times do I get to stare Death in the face before my luck runs out?”

“You have something better than luck this time,” Hermione replied.

Draco chuckled darkly and asked, “What’s that?”

“Me.”


	15. Forever and Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco could die and neither he nor Hermione knows how to deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 17th-22nd, 2006.
> 
> TW: Medical procedure

The world was composed of only two things the following morning: Hermione and pain. Everything else was too far in the background to matter. Draco was weak and the Slow Death was not as slow as it used to be.

Hermione took his hand as they waited. She had done all the talking, all the arrangements, and Draco had not said a word since they left her house. It was better that way; Hermione always seemed to know what she was doing. The receptionist did a double-take at the sight of Draco’s name on Hermione’s arm. Not a problem; Draco still did that occasionally himself. There he sat, perched on the edge of the hospital bed with Hermione’s thumb tapping anxiously at the back of his hand. His father’s cane leaned on the edge of the bed next to him, something he hoped not to need much longer.

Draco was relieved to see the first Healer through the door was the familiar one from his last visit. Same half-smile and same death grip on his clipboard as he offered Hermione his hand.

“Riley Willingham.”

She took it, shook it once, and said, “Hermione Granger.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. The rest of the Healer team will be here in a moment.”

Riley. Draco hadn’t even thought to ask his name last time. Hermione began flooding him with questions Riley insisted would be answered better by the others.

Draco’s new room at St. Mungo’s was nicer than the Isolation Ward. The walls were a calming grey instead of a harsh white. Hell, even the pillows felt fluffier. It was more like a mid-rate hotel than a hospital room, something that could work as an extended stay. That scared Draco more than anything, the thought of being in the hospital for ages. There was an armchair, a desk with a lamp, a standing lamp in the far corner ...

“You should take her name,” Draco said, causing Hermione to go silent mid-sentence.

“Sorry?” Riley asked.

“Not that you need any input, but Riley van Ravensway sounds much better than Lila Willingham.”

“I’ll consider it,” Riley replied in a voice that made Draco think he’d already agreed to take Lila’s name. “Though I am afraid I cannot say the same for Miss Granger, as Hermione Malfoy is so weird it almost makes my ears bleed. Not that you need my input.”

Draco grinned and admitted, “I see why she likes you.”

No less than four more Healers made their way into the room just then. Each of them wore those awful lime green robes accompanied by rather grim expressions. Draco’s heart sank and Hermione tightened her hold on his hand. The last of them was a tall black woman who introduced herself as Chief Healer Battlehunt. She had the sort of confidence that made people trust her, Draco very much included.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. I am sorry it is under these circumstances but Miss Granger owled us this morning with some more information about your condition, which was helpful.”

Draco leaned over and whispered, “When did you find time to do that?”

“I didn’t, um, I didn’t sleep much,” Hermione replied. “Can you fix this?”

The Chief Healer looked at Draco and said, “It is sometimes easier for patients to be forthright when their soulmate is not in the room. Would you like Miss Granger to leave?”

Yes, he absolutely wanted Hermione to leave. Draco could compartmentalize the odds of survival and the mechanics of what they needed to do to him. With Hermione standing right there, however, he was thinking about how much he stood to lose should things go wrong. He took a deep breath and said,

“No. She can stay.”

Hermione smiled and Draco knew she wouldn’t have left even if he asked her to.

“Your call, Mister Malfoy,” the Chief Healer said. “What has changed since we sent you home two days ago?”

Draco warily admitted, “It is twice the size it was when I left. And my whole left side is weak. All of it, even the parts that aren’t near ...” He gestured toward where the giant bandage was taped beneath his shirt.

“Show us, please.”

Draco brought his arms inside his shirt and pulled it up around his neck as Hermione looked away. None of the Healers cringed at the sight of his scars, their eyes glancing curiously before focusing on the giant hole in his side. Chief Healer Battlehunt gingerly peeled the bandage back and didn’t so much as blink when it was revealed the wound had begun to wrap around toward his stomach. The Chief Healer motioned for the others to crowd around and look, wide-eyed and intrigued. If Draco was going to die, at least he would die with the most badass wound they had ever seen.

Chief Healer Battlehunt asked, “You see how the skin is black around the edges? As the curse spreads, the skin dies then disappears altogether. Same for the muscle, the tissue, everything it touches. After removing the curse we will have to cut it off—”

“Sorry?” Draco asked. “You plan to do what?!”

“You won’t feel a thing, Mr. Malfoy.” The Chief Healer intended to be reassuring but missed the mark a bit. “You may pull your shirt down.” She gestured to a blonde witch at the back of the bunch and said, “Healer Knighten is our head of research in the Maeve Ward. She can explain your condition in more detail.”

Healer Knighten was very much like Riley. She held her clipboard close to her chest and tapped on the back with her fingernails as she spoke.

“The Slow Death was eating away at you, so once Miss Granger brought you in our only option was to use your body to counteract the curse. It was intended to buy time, but I do not believe it bought us enough. Essentially, your magic is acting as a shield inside your body. Instead of attacking you it attacks your magic, which is why you experience numbness. You are losing magic faster than you can produce it, and it has not stopped the progression of the curse on your body. I do not know how much longer we can wait.”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Whatever you can do needs to be done now.”

“We need a few hours to prepare, but we will be ready to remove the curse today. There are a few different methods we plan to try, but we have high confidence in our success.”

Draco stopped listening after that. He didn’t have a choice in this, just had to trust they knew what they were doing. They could have stayed five more minutes or fifteen, he didn’t know or much care until they were filing out the door. Draco grabbed Riley’s arm and held him back.

“I am going to run again.”

Riley gave him a tight smile but Draco refused to let him leave.

“I need you to tell me. Is this permanent, or am I going to run again?”

Riley swallowed hard and said, “No one really knows much of anything about this. It is all theory based on texts that are a thousand years old and—”

“But you are a _Healer_ ,” Draco insisted. “You know _something_ , Riley. I need you as much as you need me and I need you to tell me—”

“Mr. Malfoy, the odds of you surviving this at all are about 1:1,” he said in one rushed breath. “The amount of magic that has been taken from you already is significant enough to warrant concern. I don’t know whether you will even walk unassisted again, let alone run, assuming you don’t die in the process.”

Draco dropped his hold on Riley, who made no move for the door. He kept saying things like, “You are very strong, though,” and, “We might be completely wrong and this is far safer than we believe.” Hermione said something to him that Draco didn’t hear, lost inside his head. There was as much chance he would die as there was that he wouldn’t. Riley left soon afterward.

Hermione whispered, “Hey, babe,” and placed her hands on his shoulders.

Draco gave her a weak smile that did nothing to assuage her concerns. Her lip trembled for a moment but she forced back the tears and paused to breathe. Then she looked him in the eyes to say,

“This is nowhere near the worst odds we’ve ever faced.”

Draco nodded.

“What were the odds that you and I ended up here together?”

“That was fate,” Draco said, his voice sounding far away to his own ears.

“Yeah,” Hermione laughed as a tear escaped. “Yeah, I suppose it was. What would be the purpose of a family curse if you died here? You read the journal, you are supposed to find the one person you love more than anyone else. To continue your family line of attractive blond idiots, yeah?”

Draco nodded.

“If you die here then it would defeat the purpose. We haven’t found better yet,” Hermione said.

“I cannot speak for you,” Draco said. He cleared his throat and admitted, “But I have.”

Hermione looked up at the ceiling then walked over to collapse in the armchair. She shook her head and asked,

“How do you do that?” When Draco didn’t answer, she clarified. “You can sit there and say things like that without a hint of insecurity.”

“I know what I feel and you, of all people, should know I am not afraid to express it.”

Hermione wiped at the bottom of her eyes and asked, “How on earth did you learn to be like that?”

“My father,” Draco replied without hesitation.

“Really?” Hermione asked.

Draco smiled softly. There were a dozen memories rushing to the front of his mind. Small things his father always did that made Draco realize he was not entirely horrible. Every time Lucius returned to the manor, his first instinct was to find Narcissa regardless of how long he had been away. There was always a bouquet in the window of her study. She thought the house-elves replenished it when they wilted, but Draco knew it was his father. Draco caught him once when he was seven. Little things that made small moments seem bigger.

“My father loves my mother more than anything. The moment my mother stopped believing in the Dark Lord was the second He lost his hold on my father. That is what love is to me,” Draco explained. “Your priorities are mine. I understand what you want and I want to give it to you. Trust me to give it to you.”

Hermione glanced up to the ceiling again and said, "I do trust you."

**.oOo.**

A couple hours later, the door to Draco’s room burst open to reveal Theo and one very excited Scarlett Nott.

“UNCLE DRACO!!”

He couldn’t repress a smile and neither could Hermione. For a split-second, everything in the world was okay. Scarlett climbed up the side of Draco’s bed and draped herself across his legs. Theo laughed and went to lean on the wall next to where Hermione was seated.

“I figured you could use some time with your two favourite people,” Theo said.

“Oh,” Draco teased, “then where is Blaise?”

Theo rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t be a git.”

“I love you, you know that,” Draco said, suddenly somber.

Theo frowned at the rapid switch in tone. He glanced down at Hermione, who scribbled something on the edge of her parchment. Theo read it and his frown deepened.

“I had no idea it was that bad.”

“Are you sick?” Scarlett asked.

Draco shook his head and said, “No, I just got hurt rather bad.”

“Can I see it?” she asked.

Draco shrugged and said, “I suppose, but only if you promise to be nice to your brother forever and ever.”

Scarlett nodded her head so fast Draco thought it might pop off. He lifted the hem of his shirt so it met the top of his wound and Scarlett’s eyes were the size of saucers.

“COOL!” she shouted as Theo gagged instinctively.

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “Oh my God, are you ... What the hell happened? I thought it was okay ..."

Scarlett crawled up to Draco's shoulder and asked, “Can I touch it?”

Draco pulled his shirt down and said, “No, Scarlett, you are not going to touch it.” He wrapped his right arm around her and nestled further down into the pillows.

She lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Are you gonna be okay?”

Draco stared at the ceiling and admitted, “I dunno, Scar. I hope so.”

“Are you gonna die?”

“Would you miss me if I did?”

“Forever and ever.”

Draco pulled her close and let her ramble on for a bit about nothing. Theo handed Hermione a letter he said was from Pansy. Draco thought that was rather odd but decided not to comment; he had better things to worry about. Theo and Scarlett left awhile later, but not before Theo placed a tiny plush Phoenix at the end of Draco’s bed.

“From Sebastien,” he said. “Seb wanted me to tell you it always keeps him safe, but you need it more than he does right now.”

No sooner had they left than the Healers came rushing back in. Everything seemed to happen very quickly after that. They had all sorts of potions and contraptions at the foot of his bed that Draco didn’t even want to ask about. The other Healers continued their hustle and bustle of preparation, but Chief Healer Battlehunt walked over to Hermione.

“You cannot be here during the procedure but Healer Knighten will inform you of our progress as it goes on.”

Hermione nodded.

“It’s for the best anyway. I tend to hover.” Hermione stood up from the chair and grabbed the little Phoenix. She gave it to Draco and said, “He calls it Faithe.”

“Faithe the Phoenix?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, I spent some time with him at the party before all this.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Draco asked. “He is such a little nerd, loves books, could name you every magical creature in England by the time he was four.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. She sniffled. “You know, he asked me if I could tell the ‘Wise-mott’ how much his dad loves his mum. They talk about it, you know, not that they think their kids can hear but they do. And they don’t really understand what is happening, but they know the Wizengamot doesn’t think their parents can love each other like normal people.”

“They are smart kids,” Draco conceded.

“He asked me if I love you like normal or if I love you like their mum loves their dad ... Because he thinks there is a difference. How do you answer a question like that?”

Draco asked, “What did you say?”

“I told him the Wizengamot will never take away how much his dad loves his mum.”

Hermione smiled and she started crying. Fuck. Draco was near tears, too, and he did not want this to be over. Hermione couldn’t leave; it couldn’t end like this.

“What did you tell him about us?” Draco asked.

“Get through this and ask him yourself,” Hermione replied.

“But if I don’t?” Draco whispered. He crossed his arms and looked at Faithe the Phoenix down in his lap. He couldn’t look at her any longer without crying. “If I don’t, what would you want me to know?”

“That I will get back home,” Hermione said. “I promise. Don’t worry about me, babe.”

“Anything else?” Draco asked.

Hermione took his hand and said, “I can’t say.”

“Try.”

“I ...” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, I won’t.”

“I care about you,” Draco admitted, staring at the plush toy in his lap. “Not just in this world, but in ours or in any world. Not just because we need to do this to survive, but because you are Hermione Granger and I like you. I do not know whether this has been real to you, but all of this has been very real to me.”

Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand then ran to the door. He wanted to be angry that neither of them could say it. He wished he was upset that two weeks had turned “never” into a “maybe.” But all he could think about was how relieved he was that he was the one with the gaping hole in his chest and not Hermione.

“Mr. Malfoy, we have some Calming Draught for you,” Chief Healer Battlehunt said. “This will only take a few hours, but we will continue administering it as your body regenerates everything it has lost. You may be out a day or a week; we have no way of knowing. Is this alright with you?”

“What option do I have?” Draco asked.

“None, but I still prefer to ask,” the Chief Healer admitted.

Riley appeared with a small cup of blue liquid.

“If you make it through this, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll invite you to the wedding.”

“Draco,” he insisted. “And if I make it through this I’ll pay for your wedding. Cheers.” He raised the cup then downed its contents. Five seconds later his head hit the pillow and everything went black.

**.oOo.**

Draco opened his eyes the slightest bit. It required an obscene amount of effort and all he got for his trouble was a bunch of bushy brown hair. He felt the plush wings of Faithe the Phoenix beneath his fingers as he drifted off again.

**.oOo.**

_“He will wake up, Miss Granger.”_

_Silence._

_“I know my son, Miss Granger, and—"_

 

_“How are you not worried about him? Not the least bit?!”_

_“Because I have seen him overcome far worse. Draco is a stubborn young man and will never let go of life as long as he has something to live for.”_

_“I didn’t tell him I care about him.”_

_“He knows.”_

_“But I couldn’t say it.”_

_“Did he?”_

 

**.oOo.**

Draco woke up because he felt something wet on his left arm. He opened his eyes with far less effort this time and saw Hermione asleep in a chair next to his bed. Her head rested on his bed and he laughed.

“Granger ... You are drooling on my arm.”

“Hmm?” she mumbled, lifting her head the slightest bit. Her eyes widened the moment she realized who had spoken. She sat up and wiped her mouth with her shirtsleeve. “Am I dreaming?”

“Do you generally dribble like this in your dreams?” Draco asked.

Hermione smiled and shook her head.

“Good, because that would be weird and—”

Hermione jumped forward to snog him. She had her hands on either side of his face and just stood there, giving him slow, lazy kisses. Draco would have been happy to lie there like that for an age, but someone in the corner said,

“You know there are other people in the room, right?”

Hermione pulled away and wiped her lips again. Draco rolled his head around to see Blaise and Dean sitting in two chairs pulled in from other rooms with their feet sharing a third chair. Draco grinned.

“Welcome back to the land of the living you sonofabitch,” Blaise said. “Took you long enough.”

“How long?” Draco croaked out. His throat was dry either from lack of water or the fact that Hermione had kissed him. Perhaps both.

“Nearly five days now,” Dean said. “Looks like you and Hermione want to make up for lost time, though. Blaise and I can wait outside if you like.”

“No,” Draco laughed. “I can hardly feel much of anything right now, I just want to sleep.” He turned to face Hermione and asked, “Would it be alright if I slept some more?”

She nodded and said, “I promise not to drool on you this time.” She looked back at Draco, who still had the plush toy tucked into the crook of his right elbow.

“I am happy you are the person I woke up to. Will you promise to stay?”

Hermione took his hand and said, “Forever and ever, babe.”


	16. It's Getting Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #FEELINGS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 26th and 27th, 2006.
> 
> TW: Coarse language

It was gone.

The curse, the hole in his side, all of it. New skin a bit darker than the rest covered his wound. It wasn’t sexy, but it was whole. Draco only had about half the strength from beneath his arm through his ankle. Healers could do many things, but replenishing someone’s magic was not among them. That, they said, had to come from Draco himself. Walking was difficult enough to be an impediment, but not so bad he needed a wheelchair. Getting from a sitting position to a standing position and vice-versa was the most difficult part; Draco half-fell into chairs.

Draco woke up on the 23rd to find Hermione in the corner chair. Sebastien was at the edge of the bed, insisting Draco had enough time with Faithe the Phoenix and it was time for her to return home. He made sure to hug Hermione on the way out, and that frustrated Draco because she worked her way closer to everyone else in his life while distancing herself from him. As though something had gone wrong during that time he'd been asleep.

He was cleared to leave the hospital on June 26th, but leaving seemed to put his relationship with Hermione right back where it began. Hermione was comfortable with hand-holding. She would take Draco’s hand at the most random times, whether they were around people or alone. Draco tried to dissect what each touch meant. Was there a difference between the times she wrapped all four fingers around his and the times she intertwined their fingers? There had to be because there was nothing else. No more hugs, snogging, or even the way she sometimes ran her fingers through his hair.

Back at Hermione’s house, they fell into their routine. Hermione ordered takeaway and sat at the dining room table with a book’s worth of parchment spread out around her. She asked questions, Draco gave quippy answers, and she rolled her eyes in response. He did some letter writing of his own, preparing a statement for the CODE newsletter. Some shit about keeping hope alive and believing in a better future; words he wanted to believe but couldn’t quite put faith in. Hermione retrieved the post later that evening. Draco did not look up when she passed by, trying to pretend he didn’t care. He grabbed a quill, ink, and parchment, then slowly made for the couch. He started doodling and heard the front door close a minute later. Hermione read her letters at the table and Draco didn’t notice how much time went by before he felt the sofa cushion dip.

Draco looked over to see Hermione holding a letter.

“My parents want to have us over for dinner.”

Draco nodded, but made no reply. He looked at the parchment between his ink-stained fingertips. Both sides covered in Time-Turners, Dragons, and hands holding outstretched wands.

“They close the practice early on Wednesdays, so …” Hermione trailed off, waiting for an answer.

Draco said, “I am out of parchment.”

“Right, I can get you more, but about dinner—”

“May I see your arm?” Draco asked.

Hermione shrugged and offered her right arm. Draco pulled the coffee table closer to the couch, dipped his quill in the ink, then began drawing on the underside of Hermione’s forearm. He began by outlining a pommel and jeweled hilt up near the crook of her elbow.

“We can always say no,” she said.

“Try and keep still,” Draco replied. He leaned forward a bit to blow on the ink and waited for it to dry.

“Thing is, I don’t want to say no. I want to go.”

Draco didn’t answer, just tried to shade his drawing as best he could before moving down her arm.

“The problem is that I don’t trust myself when I am around you,” Hermione admitted. “I keep asking myself, if you were not so … You know … If you weren’t quite so handsome would I—”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Draco said with a smile. He finished outlining the guard and shifted himself so he was perpendicular to Hermione’s upturned arm.

“Stop it, don’t be cute,” Hermione quipped. “If you weren’t so good-looking would I feel the same way? Would I forgive you and look past all the awful shit you did to me in school? And I realize yes, I would. I absolutely would because it has been ten years and you changed for the better. You are still a prick but less of an asshole.”

Draco frowned at the metaphor. He was not quite sure what it meant.

“My point is,” Hermione said, “that I don’t entirely trust myself because this is too strange. You are you and I am me, and this should not be happening in any universe. But, God, sometimes I really want it to.”

Draco carefully drew one side of the blade and said, “Tell me about the times when you don’t.”

Hermione thought about it for a moment and began biting on her free thumbnail.

“I wonder whether I will feel the same way about you once we get home. I wonder what my parents will think. I am afraid of how unbearably sad I would be if I let you into my heart and you died. A very real possibility both here and back home. I worry about what my friends would think. Not the ones here, obviously, since they are delusional and think the name on my arm means something.”

Draco glanced over to Hermione’s other arm resting against her leg.

“It means something to me.”

“Only because I chose to put it there. They don’t know that. My friends at home would think I have gone mad just for snogging you the once. Now we have to take our relationship public to force Susan’s hand.” Hermione paused and asked, “Does it bother you that the whole world is about to think we are together?”

Draco pointed out, “We aren’t,” but not for lack of trying on his part.

“Soon enough they will believe we are and I have known you long enough to know you should have a problem with that. But you don’t.”

Draco laughed.

“How many people need to tell you I have a crush on you before you believe it?”

“You don’t,” Hermione insisted. “You are never nervous around me, you never even hinted you wanted to snog me so when I finally did it the whole thing was a mess—”

“Does that moment between us truly bother you?”

Hermione picked at some fuzz on the sofa cushion and said, “It was not my finest snog, is all. Yes,” she conceded, “it bothers me.”

“I thought it was rather nice toward the end,” Draco admitted. He smiled as Hermione’s cheeks turned pink. “But the element of surprise was better in theory.”

“Well I didn’t know how else to thank you.”

“You could have said, ‘Thank you.’ You know, the words? Aloud?”

Hermione shook her head and said, “That was not enough. I knew those photographs were from Ron and that meant you went to his house. You saw his home with Astoria, something I am still not prepared to do. You saw Ron living the life you want all to make this world feel a bit more like home for me.” She sighed and kept staring down at the rough Sword of Gryffindor on her arm. “Looking back, I just wish I gave the kiss as much thought as you gave me.”

“You are welcome to give it a go again if you like,” Draco teased.

“Really?”

“What a ridiculous question.” Draco looked at Hermione, knowing full well she wouldn’t do it. “Put some thought into it this time, Granger. Make it mean as much to me as this house means to you.”

Hermione looked up at him through her eyelashes and Draco nodded for her to proceed. She placed her fingers against his right cheek and leaned forward so their foreheads touched, but she made no move to actually snog him. Draco closed his eyes and tried to quash the disappointment.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said. “Not without a reason.”

“I have a reason.” Hermione’s breath was warm against Draco’s lips as she said, “I want to.”

She kissed him. Soft lips a whisper against his own, so faint Draco may well have dreamt it. Hermione pulled away and Draco’s heart damn near leapt out of his chest when he opened his eyes to see her grinning at him.

“Would you mind if we just did this for awhile?”

Draco paused for a moment. Had he heard correctly?

“I’d like to keep snogging you for a bit,” she said.

“Sure, yes, fuck, um … Where can I touch you?’ Draco rambled. “Might be best for you to do most of the moving since—”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. She shifted one leg overtop of him to the other side, so she was straddling his legs on the sofa. “Is this okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Draco nodded. He swallowed hard and started rambling. “Definitely okay. Good. Solid. Exceeds Expectations.”

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked. She frowned and her eyebrows sort of knitted together. “I thought you wanted me to do this.”

“I am a bit confused,” Draco admitted. “I told you I care for you but you could not say it back and during our stay in St. Mungo's you felt more distant than ever. My logical assumption was that you decided I am not worth it, yet here you are on top of me. All I can think is that you believe this is okay because once we get home you can pretend it never happened. Or perhaps you are just curious what it is like to be with me and you want to give it a go because you know I am not going to say no.”

“You’re wrong. I was afraid, alright? I can’t say things the way you do. I thought about you dying and the only thing running through my head was that you did not know how much I have grown to care for you in less than two weeks. It confuses me as much as it scares me, and I don’t know how to tell you that so you understand. All I know is I want to be with you and right now I want to kiss you for awhile. You can touch me anywhere you like; just please let me have this moment.”

Draco placed his hands on her hips and Hermione kissed him harder this time. She laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled herself closer. Draco smiled against her lips and began trailing his fingers up and down along the sides of her body. He let Hermione set the pace; lazy and dreamlike kisses that were better than Draco ever would have imagined. He casually moved his hand to rest against her lower back and she reciprocated by tugging on his shirtsleeves to pull him flush against her. Draco felt her heartbeat against his chest, somehow more frenetic than his own.

They spent a half hour twined together like that. Draco’s shallow breathing, his heart pounding so hard he felt it in his throat, and Hermione’s chest resting against his … Draco enjoyed holding Hermione just to hold her. It was different from how things were with Astoria, whose hands were always gentle. Hermione was tugging wherever she wanted, Draco’s hair or his shirt or even getting her fingers stuck in the belt loops on his jeans. Hermione made a contented noise when Draco’s hands made their way to cup her bum. She pulled back to laugh.

“You said you liked my tits better,” she teased.

Draco leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

“Saving that for another day,” he said.

“Another day?”

“I was hoping you would want to do this again.”

“I have never been one for Divination, but you would probably find a YES in your tea leaves.”

He laughed and patted her bum. Hermione moved backward off the sofa and offered her arm to help him stand. They both looked at the smudged sword there on her arm.

“I like it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll keep it.”

**.oOo.**

Draco sat at the table, waiting for his guests. It was just like them to be late. He’d returned to Syrup and given Byron a heads-up this time since he would be bringing the most high-profile of guests. Potter and Weasley walked through the door at fifteen minutes after the appointed meeting hour. By then, Draco was already halfway through his glass of vinho verde. They came over to the table and Draco said,

“I would shake your hands, but …” He nodded to the cane with its head balanced on the edge of the table. “Standing is a bit difficult at the moment.”

“Happy to see you pulled through,” Weasley said. Strangely enough, he sounded like he meant it. “Hermione was worried sick.”

“Was she, now?” Draco asked. Hermione hadn’t spoken about the five days it took him to recover.

Both of them sat down at the circular table and scooted their chairs as far away from him as they could without being in each other’s laps. Draco laughed.

“You two are the worst.”

“Then why did you ask us to lunch?” Potter asked.

Draco took a deep breath and said, “It is probably best you order first. I already took the liberty as I was not entirely certain you would show.”

After they ordered, Potter repeated the question.

“Why did you bring us to lunch?”

“I …” Draco trailed off. He tapped his fingers on the table and said, “Hermione is taking me to meet her parents tomorrow.”

Potter’s mouth turned into a surprised O.

“I don’t see the problem,” Weasley said.

“The problem, you twit, is that I have never done this before. My only other relationship to get this far was Astoria, and her parents have known me since before I could speak. I can only guess what Hermione has told her parents about me, and none of it is flattering.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Potter agreed.

“Exaclty!” Draco said. “You two know her better than anyone and I don’t … I just don’t.”

“What do you want, then?” Potter asked. Slightly less hostile than he had been when he sat down.

“How does this work?” Draco asked. “I mean, bloody hell, they are Muggles. What do I do? Do I bring a gift or flowers or should I just throw myself off a building and spare us all the trouble?”

“’S not that bad,” Weasley insisted. “You have good teeth, and they care about that.”

“Right, they are teeth Healers.”

“Dentists,” Potter corrected with a chuckle. Draco made a note to remember that. _Dentists._

 

“Look, I came to you for help because I only get once chance at this. I have to apologize for making six years of Hermione’s life absolute hell. I have to explain why I changed my views on blood status. I have to remind them I am not technically a criminal since I was cleared of all wrongdoing—”

“You’re welcome,” Potter interjected.

“Oh my fucking God!” Draco shouted. He threw his hands in the air and said, “You can leave, if you like. Feel free to go. I will not sit here and listen to you whinge about my relationship with Hermione. I came to you for help.”

“I don’t know how this happened,” Potter said. “I don’t understand how you have turned around so much that not only do you like her, you _love_ her.”

“I never said that,” Draco insisted.

“You don’t have to,” Potter replied. “I see it all over your face. We all do. And I don’t understand how that is possible. You’re shagging her for fuck’s sake!”

“We aren’t!” Draco said before biting down on his fist.

“But I saw—”

Draco held up a hand to silence Potter. He grabbed his fork and pressed his thumb into the dip below the tines. Draco tapped the dull end of the fork against the table until that sudden swell of emotion calmed down.

“I said that to irritate you,” he revealed. Draco lowered his voice. “Hermione and I are barely past snogging. Sex is not even on my mind right now. We are so new at this, and we both know how horrible it will be to face all of the publicity and somehow that is nothing in comparison to meeting her parents. What if it goes wrong? If I am not exactly who I need to be for them to like me, maybe Hermione will finally see that I am completely wrong for her. I could ruin everything.”

Potter ripped open a roll and kept tearing it apart as he spoke.

“I never said you were wrong for her; I said I didn’t understand it.”

“I think we all know that I am not the sort of man Hermione deserves.”

“You are, though,” Weasley said. “Aren’t you? I mean, you’re soulmates so you have done something right.”

Draco laughed.

“Right, the soulmate magic. Without that, though, what good am I?”

“She likes you,” Ron said. “’Mione was torn up those few days they weren’t sure you would ever wake up. What, you were at St. Mungo’s ten days and she was there for almost all of them. I had to practically drag her out of your room to shower. She didn’t want to go anywhere except to brush her teeth.”

“She is ridiculous like that,” Draco said.

“No, Malfoy, she did not want to leave you. Not again. At least, that’s what she said every time we tried to get her to go for a walk.” Potter looked at Draco, confused. “I don’t know how this happened but she cares for you a lot.”

Draco felt himself blushing.

“Will her parents see that?”

“That's up to you,” Weasley said. Their food arrived and he dove into it like a starving house-elf.

Draco picked at his own food, not very hungry. He sipped his wine and asked, “How long before you have to be back at the Ministry?”

Ron Weasley’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he asked, “You haven’t heard?”

“I, erm …” Potter trailed off then chugged the rest of his wine. He sat his glass on the table and said, “I quit my job last week.”

Draco’s mouth fell open.

“Holy dragon balls.”

“Yeah, I uh, I didn’t like what they were doing to CODE members. The security office took you and Hermione prisoner for no reason. That’s what it was; there was no memo for your assessment and they tried to sweep it under the rug. I don’t think they ever planned on letting the two of you go.”

“We figured as much, but … We weren’t really it for you, were we?” Draco asked. “You knew something was wrong before all this.”

“I just didn’t know what,” Potter agreed. “And I am tired as hell. I’d like to leave saving the world to other people now and just stay home with my kids.”

“How domestic,” Draco teased. “How about you, Weasley? You planning to drop the Ministry as well?”

“I would if I could,” he said. “But I can’t risk disappointing Tori’s parents any more. The only thing worse than being a blood traitor to them is an unemployed blood traitor.”

Draco knew that much to be true.

“Plus, Tori’s mum is ill. Not sure how bad it is yet, but things aren’t looking good so Tori needs some stability. Then there is everything I have with UMW and you, of all people, understand I can’t drop that.”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “That is fair. I had forgotten you lead the United Ministry Workers. Keep taking the Wizengamot to task for us.”

“With pleasure.”

“He’s the only good thing about that place outside of Minister Shacklebolt,” said Potter. “But heading up the Auror Office was never what I thought it was going to be. I always wanted to help people, keep being the hero I thought the world needed … But I don’t want that anymore. I don’t know where the real evil is and if the war taught me anything it’s that a fight can only be won if there is a defined enemy.”

Draco raised his glass and said, “On that, Potter, we agree.”


	17. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco meets Hermione's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 27th & 28th, 2006.
> 
> TW: Coarse language

Draco avoided Hermione for the rest of Tuesday. He couldn’t find the right way to say, “I am terrified of meeting your parents even though they are not your real parents and we aren’t actually a couple.” Hermione liked him, great. But Potter was right that Draco more-than-liked Hermione. If that blind bastard could see it then it was a wonder Hermione hadn’t figured it out. Draco wouldn’t say love. He had dinner with Blaise and Dean and what he saw between them was love. What he had with Hermione was nothing more than “maybe.” 

It began with their house. Back in their world Blaise had four flats in three countries because he traveled so much. Blaise’s double, on the other hand, had a house. It was not bare like Hermione’s place, but neither did it have the manor’s lengthy history. Draco envied it a little, having a place of their own without a centuries-long legacy in the walls.

“You okay, Malfoy?”

Dean’s voice pulled Draco out of his head. He nodded and Dean shut the door behind him.

“Something on your mind?”

Draco followed him down the hall and asked, “You are Muggle-born, yes?”

“No,” Dean revealed, “my father was a wizard. He just never got ‘round to telling my mum.”

“How is that?”

“Dad left during the first war because he refused to join Voldemort and that made him a target. Killed by Death Eaters a month or so later. We thought he just ran off. Hated him my whole life until I got my Hogwarts letter.”

Draco said, “I am sorry.”

“For what?” Dean asked. “You did not kill my dad. You didn’t give the order, couldn’t have done anything to stop it. What were you, one year old? I don’t blame you for any of it.” He paused for a moment then asked, “How often do you apologize for things that are not your fault?”

More often than Draco cared to admit. He changed the subject.

“You were raised as a Muggle, then?”

Dean nodded.

“When Blaise met your mother ... What happened?”

“He fretted about it for weeks,” Dean revealed with a smile. “Blaise was nervous, but at the end of the day my mum didn’t really care about him. She cared about the way he makes me feel and why I feel the way I do when I’m around him. Blaise has this quiet but facetious sense of humour that always makes me laugh, even when I’m upset with him. He makes me see positive things about myself that I never saw before. Those are what she cares about, not how well he reacted to a new and hellishly stressful situation. And certainly not about the name on my arm.”

Draco bit down on his lip before asking, “Do you think Hermione’s parents will see it the same way?”

“Ah,” Dean realized. “You’re meeting her parents.”

“Tomorrow.”

Dean paused for a moment as they entered the dining area. He tapped the toe of one shoe against the ground and said,

“The only thing you can do is be yourself. If they don’t like it, then they don’t like it and there is nothing you can do. Hermione is not the sort of person to care, though. If she’s made a decision, she has made the decision. If she wants to be with you then it is what she wants.”

Draco pointed out that, “It did not seem that way with Weasley.”

“Ron’s one of my best mates,” Dean said, “and Hermione thinks of him the same way. Between you and me, I think both of them knew it could never work out. It felt good until it didn’t; and it should be the opposite. It should feel uncomfortable until it doesn’t. Love is about growing alongside each other, and growth cannot coexist with comfort.”

They heard a crash come from inside the kitchen.

“FUCK!”

Blaise came out huffing, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder. He ran a hand over his head and sighed.

“This is the worst day I have had since ... Ever. This is the worst day of my life.”

Draco asked, “What happened?”

“The Wizengamot happened!” Blaise shouted back. “Susan Bones happened! They are shutting down my shop! Not that I need the shop. Hell, I don’t even enjoy it, I just did it to do it, but now they are forcing me to close!”

“Forcing you how?”

Blaise twisted the towel between his fists and said, “Apparently it is not ‘up to code.’ The walkways are so many centimetres too small and they want to interview all my employees for … I dunno, something about something. They are all CODE members and they would rather have a conversation with a baby Mandrake than be interrogated by the Ministry.”

“So you have to close,” Draco realized.

Blaise nodded and said, “I have to close.” He took a deep breath and said, “It is fine. I will be fine, my team will be fine.”

Dean sniffed and asked, “Did you burn something?”

It was almost comical to watch Blaise’s anger dissipate and his eyes widen as he realized his mistake. He groaned,

“Oh, fuck me.”

“Later, babe,” Dean said. Then he turned to Draco and asked, “Are you alright with takeaway?”

**.oOo.**

“I cannot do this.”

If he wasn’t precariously balanced on a cane, Draco would have paced. Hermione glared at him with her hands on her hips and nodded toward her parents’ front door.

“You know they are standing behind the door just waiting for us to knock.”

“I feel like I may vomit,” Draco admitted. He swallowed hard and hissed, “I am shaking, Hermione. I am fucking trembling and they are not even your real parents!”

“Why is this so difficult for you?” she asked.

Draco didn’t have an answer. Well, he did, but it wasn’t one Hermione would like. He moved forward and navigated the stairs as well as he could. Draco knocked and held his breath, because if he let it out what little confidence he had was likely to leave with it. The door opened to reveal a woman about fifty years old who had Hermione’s curls. She was in a hoodie with a school logo and name Draco didn’t recognize. God, he hadn’t even said anything and he was already out of his depth. Mrs. Granger pulled Hermione into a hug and said,

“I have missed you the past few weeks.”

“I missed you too, Mum,” Hermione said. She stepped back and said, “This is Draco.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Granger said. She scanned Draco from head to toe and said, “He’s better-looking than the Weasley boy. A bit shorter but …” Her eyes fell to the cane. “What happened to him?”

“Caught the business end of a Blast-ended Skrewt,” Draco lied. He held out his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger.”

She took it and said, “I hope to say that to you as well, but jury’s out. Come inside.” She opened the door wider and Draco followed Hermione into the house. It gave him the same initial wave of envy as Blaise’s house; not a manor, just a home. Then he spotted a familiar photo on one wall. He laughed and asked,

“Primary school reading competition, you said?”

“She read more than the rest of her class combined,” Mrs. Granger said, closing the door behind them.

Hermione smiled and walked at Draco’s pace as they went into the family room. There was a table covered with things Draco had never seen before. A box of some kind, two cloths, some sort of writing slab, and two bowls filled with paper scraps. Not exactly the dinner Draco expected. A man about Mrs. Granger’s age, maybe a little older, stood at one end.

“This is him?” Mrs. Granger asked. “He’s shorter than Ron.”

Draco immediately sensed Hermione was much more like her father than her mother. Behind his glasses, Mr. Granger had Hermione’s wide brown eyes. There was so much ennui in how Mr. Granger was looking at him that Draco might fall backward with the force of it.

His eyes fell to the cane and Mr. Granger asked, “What happened to him?”

“Kicked by a Centaur,” Draco answered. He walked forward and reached across the table to shake Mr. Granger’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“For now, but I am about to kick your ass in Pictionary.”

Draco dropped his hand and asked, “Sorry, what?”

“Wizards don’t have Pictionary, Jack,” Mrs. Granger said.

Hermione groaned, “I thought we were coming for dinner. You never said anything about game night.”

“With everything young Mr. Malfoy has done,” Mr. Granger said, “he has to earn dinner at the Granger household. It was either Pictionary or Cluedo.”

“What is happening right now?” Draco asked. No one seemed to hear him.

Hermione asked, “Are you trying to scare him off?”

“No, honey, I intend to humiliate him by defeat in noble competition.”

“It’s Pictionary!”

“What is a Pictionary, exactly?” Draco asked.

Mrs. Granger took pity on him and explained the game. Five minutes later, Draco was sitting at one end of the table, huddled with Hermione’s mother. She leaned over and whispered,

“Ronald was shit at this. Can you draw?”

“A bit,” Draco admitted. He took a full thirty seconds to appreciate the strange not-quills that never needed to be refilled with ink. The markings could be wiped off the slate with a cloth and he could just … Keep drawing? He pointed at it and asked, “Where can I get one of these?”

“WHSmith probably.”

“I do not know who that is.”

“Focus,” Mrs. Granger said. “You win, you get to stay for dinner. We lose and you leave until next time Hermione brings you over.”

“Then I suppose we better win,” Draco replied. “Don’t tell Hermione, but I hate takeaway.”

“I knew I liked you,” Mrs. Granger said with a smile. She raised her voice and said, “Right, the young Mr. Malfoy and I will go first.” 

> **DRAGON**

“That’s it?” Draco asked, looking at the impossibly simple request on the paper in front of him. “I just have to draw this?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. Draco glanced over at her and wondered how she was so calm. She was whispering to her father just the same as Draco had with her mother. It was strange, actually, because once he stopped thinking about whether or not this was technically real, Draco began to have fun.

“Begin!”

Draco drew one of the simplest dragons he could think of, a Norwegian Ridgeback with flames coming from its mouth. He turned the slate around to face Mrs. Granger and she guessed,

“DRAGON!”

Draco jumped a bit in his seat.

“Why did you shout it?” he asked. Then he jumped further off his chair as something shrieked; the noise came from nowhere in particular. Mr. Granger pressed a button and the shrieking stopped.

“One point for Team Abby. Four rounds left for the two of you. Hermione and I will go next.”

Hermione selected a piece of paper then started to draw once Mr. Granger pressed that button again. Draco would later learn it was a device called a “timer.” She had sixty seconds to draw and for her father to guess. Once the shrieking began again, Hermione had drawn what could only slightly pass for an owl in the vaguest, most surrealist sense. Draco couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is why you do not draw your own tattoos,” he said.

“Oh, good lord, don’t get Abby started on those again,” Mr. Granger quipped.

“I think they are an irresponsible decision she will regret in a few years,” Mrs. Granger replied. “You know, the Thompsons down the street have a daughter with neck tattoos.”

“No, Abby, that’s the Taylors’ girl. The Thompsons’ daughter has one of those septum piercings.” Hermione’s father looked at her and said, “I think your tattoos are perfectly fine, honey.”

Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes and asked, “Are you ready, Draco?”

He glanced over at Hermione who was looking at the ceiling like she wanted it to come crumbling down. Draco laughed and picked up another piece of paper. 

> **LEPRECHAUN**

He smiled down at it and began drawing the moment Mr. Granger began the sixty seconds on the timer. He began with the hat, then drew the head, and Mrs. Granger shouted, “Leprechaun!” before he could get any further. And that is how it went for the next three rounds. Hermione and her father struggled to get three correct, while Draco and Mrs. Granger went five-for-five. He had never seen Hermione laugh so much.

A win meant that Draco could stay for dinner, and his stomach grumbled the moment he smelled potatoes. It wasn’t the best meal he ever had, but it felt homey. The Grangers would have done this whether or not he was there, and being welcomed into their lives like that was more than Draco ever hoped for. Halfway through the meal, Draco said,

“I do have a question, if I may?”

“Go on then,” Mrs. Granger said with a nod.

“Hermione tells me you are teeth Healers?”

Hermione mumbled, “Dentists.”

“Right, right, _dentists_ ,” Draco corrected. “Healers do not have a specification in our world. There are researchers, practicers, potioneers and alchemists, none of whom focus on one area of the body. We look at things holistically. My question is … I mean no offense, you understand, but … With the whole of the body at your disposal why the hell did you choose teeth?”

Mrs. Granger choked on a sip of water, she laughed so hard. Hermione chuckled and Mr. Granger sighed as he picked at his mashed potatoes.

“I always wanted to make people smile,” Mrs. Granger said once she could breathe again. “Being a dentist is like being a Healer in a lot of ways, I imagine, though it is a bit of a mixed bag. Loads of people associate going to the dentist with pain. No reason for that; it is just cultural. It is hard because many people tell me to my face that they hate what I do.”

“Like they forget you are human for a bit,” Draco said. “Healer— _dentist?—_ is what they see, not a person. Happens to me every bloody day. Except instead of seeing me, they see my father. They see a Death Eater, and I have to fight to be seen like a person.”

“Funny thing is,” Mrs. Granger added, “those same people are the ones grinning when they walk out of my office.”

Draco laughed and said, “I understand that far better than I would like to admit.”

“Well I care more about helping people laugh than what they say about dentists. Sometimes the work is more important than the words. Jack, however, had a different introduction into dentistry.”

Mr. Granger grinned.

“When I was younger, my dentist was a very pretty woman. Twelve-year-old me thought that all dentists must be pretty women, and seventeen-year-old me thought the same. Eighteen-year-old me went to university, then twenty-two-year-old me went to dental school where I met Abby. In the end I wasn’t all that wrong about pretty dentists.”

Hermione gagged like she had heard that story a few dozen times, but Draco thought it was wonderful. Dinner was great. Hermione’s parents were great. Watching Hermione squirm as her father told embarrassing stories was hilarious. It was never like this with the Greengrasses, but was this how family was meant to feel?

“Honey, would you mind doing dishes?” Mr. Granger asked. “We would like to talk to Mr. Malfoy here for a bit.”

Hermione shared a look with her father that Draco didn’t understand. She shook her head, rolled her eyes, then made for the kitchen. She laid a hand on Draco’s shoulder as she passed by and he nodded to let her know it was alright. He would be alright. Mr. Granger’s smile vanished the moment Hermione disappeared beyond the doorframe.

“That spell you all have to create a sound barrier, do it now, please.”

Draco wandlessly obliged him.

“We will make this quick,” Mrs. Granger said. “My husband and I are uncomfortable with the idea of soulmates and no amount of magic will convince us that the two of you belong together. That, I am afraid, falls on you, Draco. You have about two minutes before Hermione comes back to tell us why we should feel that Hermione is safe with you.”

There were many things Draco wanted to say, but every train of thought had left the station. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to him.

“We have spoken about this, my wife and I. We had different opinions at first, but I came around to her way of thinking.”

“Which is?” Draco asked.

“That you cannot judge someone by their worst mistakes,” Mrs. Granger said. “That we have to look at the sort of man you have become, and that we have to trust Hermione’s judgement in these things.”

“I wouldn’t,” Draco admitted.

“Excuse me?”

Draco ground his teeth together before saying, “The man I have become is a long way from the person I would like to be.”

“Are you in love with Hermione?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“I trust her more than anyone else,” Draco replied. “She has seen the worst in me and is still here.”

Mr. Granger pointed out, “You didn’t answer the question.”

Draco looked up toward the heavens, bit down on his lip, and nodded. He ran a hand over his face and said,

“Yes, I am.”

And it felt awful to say aloud. Draco had known it for awhile, but Romilda kept talking about choice and there was absolutely no one else he would ever choose to be his soulmate. Not even Astoria. Fuck. He wanted to grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat. It was horrible because it was real. He sniffed and looked away.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I know Hermione does not feel the same way. She keeps telling me she cannot say things like that, but what she means is that she cannot say things like that _to me._ ”

“You are making an awful large assumption,” Mr. Granger said.

Draco said, “Defense mechanism, I suppose. It used to be that I could not stand the way the world saw me. Everyone I met seemed to look at me with some combination of fear and hate, and I turned to drugs,” Draco revealed. Neither of the Grangers seemed surprised by that development so he pressed on. “Then I finally got my head out of my ass and recognized that the people who knew me best never looked at me like that. They trusted me and they needed me. I built a union so we could fight together against unfair practices by the Ministry, but also against the stereotype that we are all evil. CODE is what I have, and here, at least, it was the only reason I had to live until Hermione found me. She has every right to hate me, but she keeps surprising me in the best ways.”

“If Hermione surprises you,” Mrs. Granger said, “perhaps you should stop assuming you know her intentions.”

“Everyone else leaves when life gets hard for me,” Draco replied. “Why should Hermione be any different?”

“What. An. Idiot.”

Draco jumped when he heard Hermione’s voice behind him. He closed his eyes and sighed. Draco didn’t turn around to look at her, just asked,

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I came in about the time you got your head out of your ass,” Hermione said. “But you seem to have replaced it with a foot in your mouth.”

“Common occurrence, I am afraid,” Draco quipped.

“Did you think the ten days I spent with you in hospital was me leaving when life got hard?” Hermione asked.

“No, I—“

“Did you think me getting us both out of jail was me leaving when life got hard?”

“No, of course not—”

“Right, because I distinctly remember _you_ leaving _me_ outside a nightclub to go visit your dealer!” Hermione shouted.

“You are right,” Draco conceded. “I apologize, I was just …”

After a moment of silence, Hermione asked, “You were just what?!”

Draco looked up at her and said, “Just lost in my head. I made the mistake of assuming you would find a reason to leave. I overlooked all the ways you have proven you won’t.”

“We will talk about this at home,” Hermione said. “Mum, dad, the dishes are clean so Draco and I are leaving.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed as he stood up from his chair. He anxiously clutched his cane and said, “Thank you for dinner. I, um—”

“Before you go,” Mr. Granger stood up and fished something out of his pocket, “take this.” He handed Draco a business card.

**Slay Knighten**

**Round Table Physical Therapy**

**1100 King Arthur’s Pass, Salisbury**

“What is this for?” Draco asked.

“Abby and I met his family at our group for Muggle parents. He is a good kid, been in practice about a year, but he is in a unique position to help you with … whatever it is happened to you there.” Mr. Granger nodded to Draco’s left side.

Draco smiled, thanked him, then left with Hermione. They walked inside her house silently, each heading to their rooms without acknowledging each other. Draco stripped down to his boxers and pulled on a different t-shirt before collapsing onto the bed. He closed his eyes, thinking about how the evening had gone so right and then so wrong.

The bed dipped next to him and Draco opened his eyes to see Hermione lying on the far side.

She asked, “Did you like my parents?”

“I love them, actually,” Draco admitted. “One day I hope to have that level of comfort with someone.”

“You want it to be me?”

“No,” Draco lied.

Hermione sighed.

“This is too complicated.”

“I really don’t think it is, Hermione. Either you care for me or you don’t. Can you honestly tell me that when we leave this place you will still want to be my friend? To be whatever the hell it is we are to each other right now?!”

“Of course!” Hermione groaned. “I can’t say what you want me to say because the moment I do you can use it against me. The Wizengamot, the whole world can use it against me! Every time I think about losing you I start to travel down this terrifying spiral of  _what if_  because I have been so close to it twice already. Draco, I still feel your blood on my hand! If I say what you want me to say, if I let you into my life like that, I could lose you.”

“Then you don’t have to say it,” Draco said. “But I do care about you and I meant it when I said I want you in my life. This one and the other one.”

Hermione rolled onto her side and said, “I go as you go, babe.”

Draco smiled and nudged her with his foot.

“Well right now I was really hoping to go to sleep.”


	18. Waking Up Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 29th, 2006.

_Everything is black._

_Draco cannot see anything and his heart is trying to escape from his chest. He closes his eyes and opens them again but cannot tell the difference. He is lying on the ground with blades of grass digging into the nape of his neck. Draco begins by moving his toes. He wiggles his fingers but finds that is about all he can do. He goes through the same, practiced order that happens every time he winds up in his own mind like this. Draco presses his shoulders back into the soft sod and listens to the joints crack along his spine, but something is different. There is another heartbeat pounding in his ears; one that’s not his own._

_Bright light suddenly shines from overhead, so intense that Draco has to squint against it. He turns his cheek against the glare as his eyes adjust, but hears a familiar voice whispering to him._

_“You are not allowed to die on me, Malfoy. Not today, babe. Not today.”_

_He hears Hermione and his heart stops._

_“Little Malfoy.”_

_The voice rings throughout Draco’s head. He looks around but there is nothing but white light in every direction, the walls and ceiling too far away to see ... If they are there at all. Then the light fades and the manor gardens slowly come into focus. Draco turns his head and asks,_

_“Hermione?”_

_She does not answer, but Draco can see her shaking. Hermione is in the green robe she wore to Theo’s party. She is busy barking orders at people Draco can’t see, her hand pressed against the cut in his side to stop the bleeding. Draco remembers this, remembers the last moments before the world went dark. He hated not being in control, punctuated by the world literally closing in around him. Draco feels across the grass with his fingers until he finds Hermione’s free hand and twines their fingers together._

_“Hermione?” Draco asks again._

_“She will not hear you, Little Malfoy.”_

_Draco cringes as he feels the Dark Lord’s breath hot against his cheek._

_“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!”_

_The world goes dark again so Draco closes his eyes and tightens his hold on Hermione’s fingers._

_The disembodied voice asks, “Did you truly believe you could get rid of me?”_

_Draco tries to keep his  voice steady as he insists, “You are already dead.”_

_“Am I?”_

_Draco swallows hard and confidently says, “Yes.”_

_He cannot see anything as he feels the fabric of a sleeve brush across his face. He shudders and sneezes, too frightened to laugh at himself. Draco tries and tries to sit up, to get Hermione away from the figure he cannot see. That is the worst part of all this, not knowing what is to come. Draco focuses on Hermione, concentrating on her grip as he feels the Dark Lord’s mouth against the shell of his ear._

_“You are shaking,” the Dark Lord teases. “But is it because you are afraid of me, or do you fear for her?”_

_“Do not harm her,” Draco begs._

_Voldemort places a hand on Draco’s shoulder and asks, “Or what?”_

_Draco has no answer. Hermione deserves better than this, and hell, so does he. He remembers all of this: hitting the ground, clutching Hermione’s robes and begging her for life. Not Merlin, not God, Draco placed his faith in Hermione fucking Granger._

_“I do not want to hate myself anymore,” Draco admits. He tells the spectre, “I know you aren’t real. I know I survived you; I can survive anything except this. Except losing her.”_

_Hermione lets go._ _Her fingers disappear altogether from their place beneath his, and Draco panics. His breath comes in shallow bursts as he shouts,_

_“Hermione? HERMIONE!”_

_“Leaving all of this behind means the Mudblood won’t need you,” the Dark Lord says._

_Draco spits at him and is met with a hand splitting open his left cheek. He reaches further out, but Hermione isn’t there._

_“Do you really believe she will keep you around after you return? You never were a bright child. Do you truly believe this girl will see anything in you that she can’t get from that Weasley boy? That she can’t get from Potter or Krum or—”_

_“SHUT UP!”_

_“—anyone who was never branded with my Mark? All anyone sees when they look at you is your father and me. You are the worst of our world, Little Malfoy, and the Granger girl knows it. We all know it, so perhaps you should—”_

_“GO. AWAY.”_

_“You will never have enough power to make me,” the Dark Lord says._

_Draco nods in agreement and says, “No ... But she might.”_

**.oOo.**

Hermione was there when Draco woke up the next morning.

“Woke up” was a fairly generous phrase. Hermione half-rolled on top of him, and that pulled him from the dream world because she was on the side he could feel. He tried gently nudging her off, but she would not budge. He pushed with a bit more force and she clung even tighter. Draco groaned.

“Hermione,” he said. When she didn’t move he resigned himself to this fate. Having Hermione on top of him was not the worst thing in the world. It wasn’t sexy, and were it anyone else it would be downright annoying, but listening to Hermione’s mumbles and soft snoring was sort of entertaining. Something Draco would definitely give her shit about later.

She finally woke a few minutes after Draco. Hermione opened her eyes, lifted her head up, smiled, then crash landed face-first onto the pillow. 

Draco asked, “Sleep well?”

She nodded then flopped over so she was face-up, looking at the ceiling. Draco smiled because Hermione’s eyes were still clouded with sleep and she frowned as she ran her tongue across her teeth.

“Make one comment about my hair and I swear on Merlin’s grave I will stuff my wand up your arse.”

Draco snickered.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” he lied. Hermione turned to glare at him and Draco noticed something peeking out from beneath her shirtsleeve. He nodded to it and asked, “What is that?”

Hermione’s cheeks turned red.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Draco asked. He turned on his side and rested his head on his hand. “Because it looks like you got a new tattoo.”

She swallowed hard and winced at the taste in her mouth.

“I paid Pansy Parkinson a visit while the Healers were plying you with Calming Draught.”

“Why?”

Hermione pressed her lips together then said, “Funny enough, I don’t really know. Each of the runes was tattooed when I felt rather hopeless. The first was when I brought my parents back from Australia, the second after my first failure at the G8 3/4, and the last one when Ron left me. Hard to think of any time I felt more helpless than when you were lying there on the hospital bed and I couldn’t do anything.”

“But you had been planning this,” Draco guessed. “Theo gave you something from Pansy the day I ... Well, the day the curse was removed.”

“We went through a few variations before settling on this one. The whole process is very soothing. I like that she doesn’t make me talk while she works and I really like how it turned out.”

Draco asked to see and Hermione hesitated a moment before pulling up her sleeve. It was a dragon, winding its way down her arm. The outline of the Antipodean Opaleye was done in the same Shrivelfig-based ink as the name on Hermione’s arm. In the proper light it would shine purple to match the purple pansies around it.

“Pansies by Pansy,” Draco said with a laugh. “Then Draco and a dragon ... You have my name twice now!”

Hermione asked, “Do you plan to return the favour?”

“Absolutely not. The Mark forever turned me away from tattoos.”

“You didn’t have any hesitance taking my name, though,” Hermione observed.

Draco looked at his left forearm and said, “I quite like it. I like that anyone can look and see where my heart is.”

“Sap," Hermione teased with a soft smile. "All of Romilda’s research, it makes me think about how much work it takes to love someone.”

“Blaise and Dean say the same thing,” Draco said. “‘Growth does not coexist with comfort;’ it seems to be their mantra but they seem pretty damn comfortable to me.”

“I want that,” Hermione admitted. “I want to be with someone who ...”

“Someone who what?”

“I want someone who would run away with me,” she said. “Go to places where the name Hermione Granger means nothing. Where I am a footnote in the middle of a book twenty-seven centimeters thick, miscategorized in the library. Find a place where I could work without the distraction of being me and somewhere my soulmate could thrive beside me. Sometimes I want to escape all this pressure, but even if I did I would never rest knowing there is still work to be done. I want someone who understands that.”

Draco understood. He smiled, lightly pulled on one of Hermione’s curls and watched it spring back into place.

“I wanted to leave after my trial but something kept me here. It was not the drugs; I can get those anywhere. My friends made me want to stay, then my godchildren, and everyone else followed. Somewhere along the way, CODE became my life. Representing those of us damned by the choices of others ... I finally found a fight worth leading and I would not leave it for anything.”

Hermione turned onto her left side so they were face-to-face and gave him a sleepy-eyed, bleary smile. Draco tugged on her shirt to pull her closer, not wholly convinced he had left his dream.

“The thought of all those people, your friends, that Healer, Riley ... The thought of all of them being denied love, the most basic thing in the world ... I want it to end, and I want it to end now.”

“You have a plan?” Draco asked.

“I do.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Hermione shook her head.

“I thought we had no secrets now,” Draco teased.

“Not a secret,” Hermione said. “Just a surprise. And I’m looking forward to seeing your face when it happens.”

Draco laughed and teased, “It’s alright, love, you can admit that you like my face.”

“Only a little,” Hermione replied, her grin widening. “But next time we share a bed, let’s make it mine. It is bigger and you tend to steal the blankets.”


	19. Only So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco hires a new employee and his love life may or may not be falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on June 29th, 2006.

The Children of Death Eaters organization was headquartered in a Muggle office building.

Draco stood outside their building in the East End and laughed at the irony. It wasn’t always this way; they had two locations before this one. After the fourth dungbomb “accidentally” went off on their floor, Draco decided to put the organization where everyone least expected it to go. He boarded the lift that morning, pressed the number for the fifth floor, and waited.

The doors opened to reveal a twenty-five-year-old woman with long purple hair at the reception desk. Draco couldn’t contain his smile as he hobbled over. Halfway there, Lila looked up and shrieked,

“Oh my God, you’re back! We’ve been so worried! We saw the news but your mother kept us updated. So happy you’re alright, Merlin, any leads on the person who cursed you?”

“It is lovely to be back,” Draco said, ignoring that last question, “but I will not be staying long. Just a few bits of business to attend to before ... Well, before business elsewhere.”

It felt so good to walk through those doors. To see the ten people working their bums off because they were determined to win this fight. Each employee had their own cubicle, but they comingled all the time. If the present murmur of conversation was an indication, that much had not changed.

Lila stood up and walked around her desk to stand in front of him. Draco liked her humour, but mostly liked that she always got straight to the point. No one would get past her unless she allowed them to, and that was why her desk was the first anyone saw. Right out front, Lila van Ravensway: she’ll make you laugh then kick you right out on your arse and laugh some more. Draco was more than a little surprised when Lila wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn’t say anything, just hugged him. Draco returned the gesture with one arm, still unable to take his weight off the cane. Sometimes he needed to be reminded people actually cared about him, sober or otherwise. She finally pulled away and returned to her seat behind the front desk.

“Riley has been worried about you.”

“I never knew you had so much as a boyfriend,” Draco admitted, “let alone that you have wedding plans.”

Lila looked shyly down at her hands and said, “I don’t tell people about him. He is one of the best Healers at St. Mungo’s and he settled for me. With the marriage ban being pushed through, we don’t even know if we will get to have a wedding. Not much use in sending out invitations if there is nothing to invite people to.”

Draco couldn’t figure out which part of that was more heartbreaking: the fact that Lila thought Riley was settling, or that they had put their wedding on hold. He leaned on the counter and sighed.

“We spoke about you both times I was at St. Mungo’s,” Draco said. “Riley loves you, and you are the sort of person people wish they could be. There are moments I wish I could be more like you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Draco,” Lila said, blushing.

“It is the truth,” he insisted. “However, there is something I need you to do for me.”

“Name it and it’s done,” Lila said, immediately back to business. She pulled out ink and a quill as Draco told her the time and date of his party plans. She asked, “Address?”

“Malfoy Manor”

Lila’s hand went still. She looked up at him and asked,

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” Draco replied. “Send an invitation to everyone on the mailing list, but they are not to breathe a word of this. Actually, delay the invitations a week, just to ensure nothing gets out before it needs to.”

Lila nodded and said, “Understood. Invitations this time next week.”

“Thank you.”

“Before you go, Draco, may I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“Can I see it?”

“See—oh,” Draco realized aloud. He pulled up the left sleeve of his robe to reveal Hermione’s name. Lila leaned closer and ran the pads of her fingers across Draco’s arm. Showing off the name had gotten easier, but it still gave him a strange sense of exposure. Nakedness, almost. What he said to Hermione was true; he liked that everyone could see exactly how he felt. To show everyone he and Hermione had made that commitment to each other, that they would make it through this world together ... Except, he had kept it secret so long, even from himself, that it was uncomfortable baring his heart to the world.

“I plan to hire another employee.”

Lila’s gaze remained steadfast on Draco’s forearm as she asked, “Who?”

“We may face some problems,” Draco said. He tried to gauge Lila’s countenance, but no one was exactly as he remembered in this world. So he came right out and said, “She does not have a soulmate name.”

“What does that matter?” Lila asked. “Neither did you.”

Draco’s heart stuttered to a near stop. He pulled his arm from her reach.

“Lila, who knows that?”

“We all do,” she replied. “You told us from the off that you would never get married. You said your chance at love was gone, sounding like the giant romantic sap that you are. But you have found a second chance in Hermione Granger! We all sort of hoped for it, especially after she signed on as outside counsel, but seeing it happen is something else. Are you happy now?”

“Happy to be alive at all,” Draco countered.

“I can say the same.”

Then he hobbled around her desk, past each of his employees, and made sure to check on everyone’s progress. Liz Burke scrolled through the membership rolls, double-checking to ensure she hadn’t missed anyone’s birthday. Henry Fawley worked the finances while Idrissa Kama headed the board of directors. He stopped and chatted, smiled at appropriate intervals, even managed a laugh once or twice. But with every moment spent at CODE, Draco was forced to confront how many people were counting on him. Each of them with their own lives to lead, their own families and dreams that had to be put on hold because someone high up at the Ministry was out for vengeance.

Then he found Emma Dobbs at her desk in the back. Draco plopped into the seat across from her and she did not so much as look up. Emma’s official title was “Senior Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer,” but her unofficial job was “Everything Else.” As in, everyone had their duties and Emma did “everything else.”

“Hi, boss.”

“Emma.”

“Whadd’you need? Newsletter is going out this afternoon. I know it’s a day late, but—”

“That is what I want to speak with you about.”

“Cool, good, great, I am all ears but my eyes have to stay on this parchment or this won’t get sent out until tomorrow and—”

“This is your last newsletter.”

Emma stopped so fast she knocked over the ink jar and broke her quill in the process. It bled halfway down the parchment, so that draft was ruined. Emma just slumped back in her seat.

“Are you firing me?” she asked.

Draco shook his head.

“The opposite, actually. I am hiring someone. A writer to take this newsletter and all our other things off your hands. The invitations, birthday cards, everything. She can do it all and you can focus on your actual job.”

Emma grinned.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“Oh, thank Merlin. I hate writing, Draco. I hate it with so much passion I could write a book about how much I hate writing.”

Draco began to say something, but couldn’t work out an appropriate response in his head.

“Who is this mysterious writer?” Emma asked. “Someone I know?”

“Merlin, I hope not,” Draco said with a laugh.

**.oOo.**

Romilda Vane opened her door clad in a low-cut blouse, jeans, and bunny slippers. 

“Morning,” Draco said.

“Where’s Hermione?” she asked.

“Working,” Draco answered. “This visit is not about us. May I come in?”

Romilda opened the door, eyebrows raised. Then she scrambled to get something from the fridge. 

“Can I get you a drink? Eggs? I’m a rubbish cook but I could give it a go. Bacon, maybe?”

“No, Romi, I am fine. Can we sit for a minute?”

“Yes! Yes, um, wow ...” Romilda sat in one of the chairs at her table and stared with wide eyes as Draco took the only other.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course, it’s just been so long since I’ve had anyone over. I’ve sort of forgotten what to do.”

“Not even your mother?” Draco asked.

“She died years ago,” Romilda revealed. “Just me now. Which is fine, I mean, I have loads of friends. Just, not a lot of ...”

“Family,” Draco finished. 

“Yeah,” Romilda agreed. “So! Why are you here?”

Draco took a deep breath and asked, “If you could do anything for a living, what would it be?”

“I’d write,” she said before Draco had finished the question. “You know, I was so proud of _Partnership_. Took me two years to research it, had to pay the publisher to get the ten copies, and the Ministry tried to take it away from me.”

“But you didn’t let them.”

“Of course not! I love that book. I am obsessed with the history of soulmates, it’s a different sort of love, you know? Not one that is right or wrong, just different. Magical in the most literal sense. I only wish we didn’t feel like it is the only proper way to love someone.”

Draco grinned and asked, “How do you feel about CODE?”

“I think it’s a great organization,” Romi answered. The rest all came in a single rush of breath. “I think that the kids of Death Eaters definitely need a way to pool all their power. I think unions are the only way to have checks on those in high office, I think that if the war taught me anything it’s that you have to fight for what you know is right even when it costs you everything. Because if you don’t no one else will, and that is how Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort.”

Draco laughed.

“That was ... A lot.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to offer you a job.”

Romilda blinked.

“CODE puts out a weekly newsletter, and I would like to make it a bigger part of the organization. I want someone dedicated to it, someone talented. I’ll match whatever you make now, average per week. But it is not just the newsletter—”

“Yes!” Romilda shouted. “Oh my God, yes! Yes!”

“There are some more mundane things expected of the position,” Draco said, his heart warming at Romilda’s smile. “We send out cards to every member on their birthday, any anniversaries, condolence cards, and the like. You would have to write those along with—”

“Are you serious?” Romilda asked in disbelief. “Are you taking the piss or are you serious right now?”

Draco insisted, “I have a job and I would like you to do it. Not because you are my friend, which you are, but because you are an excellent writer. Hermione raves about _Partnership_  and I haven’t heard her speak that way about another book as long as we have been here. You might give _Hogwarts: A History_ a real contest. I want CODE to have a voice that can relate to everyone, not just our members, and you are it.”

Romilda started sobbing into her hands. Draco didn’t know what to do, so he sat there, confused. She wiped her eyes with her hands but kept crying. Draco thought about reaching out to her, but decided that would be too invasive for the moment. He knew what it felt like; he had been there. For more than a year his life had been in the hands of the Wizengamot and being acquitted felt like being freed from chains he wasn’t fully aware were binding him. Romilda took a deep, shuddery breath, and Draco thought she might fall to pieces right in front of him. Instead, she leapt from her chair and threw her arms around his shoulders. 

“‘m not gonna let you down,” she said, “I promise.”

“I know,” Draco said as he returned the hug. Romilda stepped back and he said, “I only wish I had thought of this earlier. You deserve a chance to succeed, Romi.”

“And it won’t matter that I don’t have a ... a ...” She lifted her left arm.

“Not at all,” Draco promised. “But there is one more thing I want to do, and I need your permission.”

“Oh my God,” Romilda said, wiping her eyes again. “Tell me and see it done. Anything.”

"I want a copy of your book."

**.oOo.**

“You gave her a job?” Hermione asked. 

Draco had snuck her into the manor again. As much as Hermione’s house had begun to feel like home, his heart was still in Wiltshire. They sat on the edge of a pond so far back in the gardens the manor was little more than a speck in the distance. 

“She still has to interview with Emma and Lila, but they will love her. CODE can be depressing work and I think Romi will brighten up those moments quite well.”

“I have employment news as well,” Hermione admitted. “It will make the front page of the _Prophet_ tomorrow and likely the cover of _Witch Weekly, Spella,_ and everything else.”

“Oh, I am intrigued,” Draco said.

“I resigned my post as Delegate to the G8 3/4.”

The water was up to Draco’s knees and his cane laid discarded somewhere on the grass behind him. He thought for a few moments after Hermione’s revelation, concentrating on the feel of smooth rocks beneath his toes. The pond stretched out three dozen metres in diameter, and they watched the sun’s rippling reflection on the surface as it began to set. This was the only real peace Malfoy Manor had to offer. 

Draco finally asked, “Why?”

“My resignation letter will be printed in the _Prophet.”_

“Give me the abridged version, then,” Draco teased. 

Hermione tensed up next to him, so Draco playfully kicked at her leg beneath the water. She tried to smile but faltered a bit.

“I cannot represent a country determined to take away the right to love,” she admitted. “We cannot make laws for certain people and not for others. That is unfair and unjust. Now that I have found someone I like, might even love one day, I understand the pressure this ban puts on us. I hate it, I hate the people doing it, and I want to be free of this. As if feeling everything for you was not confusing enough, now I have to fight for it.”

Draco’s brain fought to catch up with that thought.

“You resigned one of the highest offices in the world because of me?” Draco asked, more than a little guilty. 

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I resigned because of Ron. Because of Romilda Vane and Theo Nott. If their love has no value, then no love does. Soulmate names, Death Eater parents, you might be Death Eater yourself ... Fuck all of it, Draco. I don’t stand for this.”

“So you like me?” Draco asked as a teasing grin slowly worked its way across his face. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, I like you.”

“As in you might want to be my girlfriend one day?” Draco asked.

“Don’t be cute,” Hermione insisted.

“Come on, Granger, with this face?” Draco asked. “Impossible.”

He should have seen it coming when Hermione pushed him into the pond, but the warm water stung against his face. Draco stood up and spat water at Hermione. He flung his hair back and pushed the rest of it from his eyes. God, it felt so good to stand on his own. Buoyed by the waist-deep water, Draco took a tentative step forward, and then another. For a moment he was invincible.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she shifted backward from the edge.

“No, no,” she insisted. “Nope, not going to happen, Malfoy. This is my favourite top—”

Draco grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into the water.

“COLD!” Hermione shrieked. “Merlin, this is cold.”

The water was fairly warm, but Draco was not about to point that out. Hermione splashed Draco with some water and half-heartedly chastised him,

“You are a git, Draco Malfoy!”

He shrugged and said, “Guilty.”

“And to think I was about to admit that I care for you,” she huffed. “Now my hair is wet and it’ll frizz. I’ll have to wash this top once we get home and my knickers are stuck in very awkward places right now.”

Draco sank entirely beneath the water so he would not have to listen to her. He swam forward and she took a corresponding step backward so her back was against the edge of the pond. Draco popped up to see Hermione was still talking.

She huffed, “I was trying to have a serious conversation!”

“I am tired of conversation, Hermione,” Draco admitted. He tucked a clump of wet hair behind her ear and said, “I can’t stop thinking about what is real between us and what isn’t. Are you confused? I know exactly what I want but you never seem to be sure. I know this is not what we intended it to be, but I like being around you. I also liked waking up with you. I need to know, are you just playing at this, or do you want to give it a real go?”

“Give what a real go?” Hermione asked, frustration evident in her voice. She tossed her hands in the air and droplets flung off her fingers to make ripples in the water around them. “Yes, I like you. You want to make me say it?! I care for you and I think about snogging you all the time. I want to parade you around as my boyfriend to make Ron jealous, to take the piss out of Harry, and because you are actually quite handsome. Most of the time, I mean, but I have seen you in the morning now and—”

Draco pressed Hermione against the side of the pond and kissed her, hard. Nothing slow or lazy about any of it. Draco hadn’t felt this strong in weeks and finally being able to stand on two feet without aid of a cane ... He was almost high on it, or perhaps high on the way Hermione felt completely pressed against him. Everything was sloppy, from the way their mouths pressed together to the squelching sounds of their clothes as they moved. Hermione tucked her hands beneath the hem of his shirt and started peeling it away from his body. She had no reaction when the pads of her fingers brushed against Draco’s Sectumpsempra scars. He broke away to force the shirt over his head.

Draco took a moment to breathe and Hermione tugged her own top over her head. Holy dragon balls. He must have stared too long since the entirety of Hermione’s chest turned faintly pink. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks burned red as she rolled her hips.

Draco had to move closer, touch every part of Hermione he could get his hands on and get rid of anything in his way. He wrapped one hand around the back of Hermione’s neck and gave her a wet, open-mouth snog. Sweet baby Merlin, she was so responsive. Hermione moaned her approval when Draco tugged at the hair on the nape of her neck. Draco’s whole body tightened at the sound of her labored breathing as he trailed kisses down her neck. He palmed her breast with one hand and bit down lightly on her collarbone.

“D’you ... Think this is ... Holy hell, stop, stop!”

Draco paused and Hermione said,

“No, sorry, don’t actually stop. I just ...”

Draco stepped back and frowned. She grimaced.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean for you to stop.”

“But you said stop,” Draco replied. Perhaps it was the frustration of being hard as a fucking rock, but Draco had enough. “This right here is what I meant, Hermione! You say one thing and do another. You like me, but only so much. I can kiss you, but only so much. This is real to you, but only by so much! I might not be able to say it to your face, Hermione, but you know how I feel about you! Hell, everyone knows. If you cannot decide what you want, then I want no part of whatever this is.”

Hermione stepped forward and he took a reciprocal step back to maintain the distance between them. She looked at him with regret in her eyes and apologized.

“Draco, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t care.”

Hermione moved to put a hand on his shoulder but Draco brushed it off.

“I think it best you leave.”

“Will I see you at home, then?” she asked.

Draco slipped beneath the water without answering. He didn’t want to hear her voice or see how far that blush traveled down her chest. He swam to the middle of the pond, heavily favouring his right side. He’d spent so long down there in his teens escaping the confines of the manor and every house-elf dispatched to find him. Draco was well-versed in hiding from the problems he didn’t want to face, and there was no better place to evade it than the bottom of the pond. Sometimes he wanted to get lost down there in suspended time, wait until the rest of the world had figured itself out.

He swam to the deepest part of the floor and sat, slowly blew bubbles and watched them float to the top as he thought about where things had gone wrong. The closer he got to Hermione, the more she pulled away. Bouncing back and forth so often made his head spin. Astoria had never been like this; she was always clear about where they stood and what she wanted. When Draco didn’t measure up, she ended it. Simple, concise, and it hurt like hell. 

When Draco finally surfaced, Hermione was gone.


	20. Where We Went Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries (and fails) to move forward while Hermione's life falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on July 5th, 2006.

“Oh, bollocks,” Draco said before his head slipped beneath the water.

He could hear Knighten laugh, even below the surface. Draco stood once again on both feet and pushed himself above the water. Anger built up in his gut as he wiped the water from his eyes. Anger at himself, at whomever had cursed him, at the fucking Malfoy dynasty for trying to dictate his love life ...

“You’ll get there,” Slay Knighten said. “You might be a prune by then, but—”

“Cheers, mate,” Draco quipped. “Why am I paying you for this, again?” 

Knighten laughed and said, “Because you can’t do this yourself.”

Draco knew the truth of that; it’s why he owled Knighten in the first place. It had been nearly a week since he had seen Hermione and he was growing restless around the manor. Draco had grown used to Hermione's touch and was disappointed every morning he woke up and she wasn't there. Even though he knew she couldn't be.

His letter requesting Knighten's services was mistakenly delivered to Slay’s sister at St. Mungo’s. Healer Knighten from Draco’s team at St. Mungo’s had a Muggle brother who also happened to be a Healer. Or, as Slay insisted he be called, _Doctor Knighten_. Whatever the hell that meant. And the worst of it was that Slay Knighten was absolutely wonderful. He had curly blond hair and a meticulously-maintained amount of scruff. Slay was a nice person who always seemed to be smiling. He had an infectious laugh that Draco hated because it was nearly impossible to stay angry in his presence. He offered to help Draco at the manor instead of his practice because they wanted to focus on using his magic to heal his leg. That was not something they could discuss at Knighten's Muggle-supported business. 

“Go again. One more time.”

Heeding instruction, Draco did the same thing he had been doing for the past half hour. He stood in the pond’s waist-deep water and gingerly lifted his right leg off the floor. It was harder to balance, but he could manage against the slight swell of the water. 

“Good,” Knighten said. His cheery disposition only further angered Draco, who knew exactly what was coming. “Now, work on pressing all of your magic toward your left side. Once you’ve done that, jump up using the ball of your foot and land with your foot flat.”

Draco tried. He forced every ounce of magic he felt over to the left side of his body. Draco felt everything from his thigh to the tips of his toes, stronger than it had been in weeks. It was overconfidence that damned him. The jump itself was not bad, though he concentrated twice as hard to get half as much force as he once could. He came slightly out of the water only to lose all feeling in his left leg, like his magic had disappeared. When it finally touched ground again, Draco’s leg crumpled beneath him and he sank entirely beneath the water.

_Again._

He screamed in frustration, but all that came out were bubbles. Draco resurfaced, balled his hands into fists, and seriously considered forgetting this whole venture. He splashed a load water off to the side and mumbled, 

“I don’t feel like any of this is going to work.”

“Doesn’t sound like you mean physical therapy,” Knighten replied. 

Draco made his way to the edge of the pond and pulled himself out. He flopped onto the grass, on his back, and stared up at the sky. Even it was a bright, cheery blue that infuriated him. Everyone else was fucking fine, but he was relearning to walk. Still trying to find someone in this universe, or any other for that matter, who could love him the way he thought Hermione did. 

“I had a row with my girlfriend,” he said, still looking up at the cloudless sky. “I think we broke up. I mean, I think I broke up with her.”

“Shouldn’t you know that sort of thing?” Knighten asked as he pulled himself up and out of the pond. 

“Probably,” Draco said. He closed his eyes, unable to look at the sky any longer. “But I am far less than the sort of man she deserves. I know it, everyone else knows it, but I thought ... Maybe one day she could see me for the man I am now and not the boy I used to be.”

Slay turned toward Draco and said, “My family is a fucked-up magical mess. My dad and my sister and even my son are wizards, while me and my mum are Muggles. And I am happy with that; I love using medicine and therapy to help people reclaim their bodies. However, I encounter loads of problems. For example, my son has the terrible habit of lighting things on fire and he cannot control it yet. I am always putting out fires and you remind me of him a bit.”

Draco glared up at Knighten to say, “I am not a child!”

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed. “You are stronger, which meant you had more magic to lose. It will take more time for you to make it as potent as it once was, and your magic is harder to control. Regardless of all that, you are doing it. You had the wherewithal to seek me out because you want to get better, and if Muggle medicine is the way to do it, you will do it. How many of your people think that is something you would do?”

“Not many,” Draco admitted.

“Exactly. I met the Grangers at my support group for Muggles with magical kids. Funny enough, we all subscribe to the same paper because there is only one magical publication willing to deliver to Muggle addresses.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. That couldn’t be right.

“You all get the CODE newsletter?”

“All thirty of us,” Knighten confirmed. He offered a hand to help Draco stand up. 

Draco reached out for his cane and took Doctor Knighten’s proffered hand. Once he was able to stand, he wrung out the ends of his swim trunks and looked past Knighten to the manor far off in the distance. 

Knighten turned to look and asked, “Do you want to walk back?”

“No.”

“We’ll go slow.”

“If you charge by the hour, even I might not be able to afford it.”

“Shut up,” Knighten said. “I’ll walk you back for free. This process might be easier if you stop thinking about how shitty you are, and remember that you are strong enough to lead a couple thousand people who don’t give a damn whether you can walk on your own. Now, do I need to instruct you in this or can you put one foot in front of the other?”

**.oOo.**

Draco eventually made it back to the manor. He showered to get the smell of pond water out of his hair and thought about what Slay Knighten had said. He did not feel bad about telling Hermione to leave. It was the right thing to do, to stand up for himself and his feelings. 

Right?

He went downstairs for dinner, but was met halfway by a house-elf. It was an elf Draco did not recognize, and he wondered just how much happened while he had been away. Or perhaps he just never paid enough attention. The house-elf bowed its head, ran its hands over its tea cozy tunic and mumbled,

“You have a visitor, Master.”

Draco rolled his eyes and asked, “Is it Hermione?”

“No, Master.”

“Then I don’t care.”

Astoria stepped into the room and asked, “Would you care to rethink that?”

Draco groaned. This right here was the worst thing about Astoria: meddling. God, she put herself into so many situations where she did not need to be. The house-elf made a quick exit, but Draco’s heart still did that little flip when he looked at Astoria. To her, they had been separated for years, but for Draco it had been little more than six weeks. While that wound had begun to heal, it wasn’t gone. 

He had seen that accusatory look in her eyes before, and he missed it. He missed being able to get a rise out of her, to know that she cared about him more than anyone else. Draco never really had anyone else look at him that way. Astoria smiled at him, they said hellos, and then she slapped him across the face.

He still felt the pressure of Astoria’s fingers against his cheek when she asked, “Where the bloody hell have you been?!”

Draco gently rubbed his cheek and said, “Ow.” 

“I should put my wand right through your eye, Draco Malfoy!” Astoria shouted. “Why are you not with Hermione Granger right now?”

“She made it quite clear that my presence as her soulmate is not valued,” Draco countered. “I see no reason to stay at her side like a bloody lapdog.”

“You haven’t heard then? Yesterday the Department of Magical Law Enforcement revoked her license,” Astoria revealed. “She can no longer practice law.”

Draco’s legs gave out from under him. He reached out to Astoria who helped him into a nearby armchair. Draco wrapped his fingers around the cane and rested his forehead against it for a moment. All that frustration from earlier hadn’t dissipated; it calcified in his gut as he realized this was all his fault.

“They are doing this because I am her soulmate.”

“No,” Astoria insisted. “They are doing it because she stood up for you, and stood up for CODE.”

“And now she is paying for it!” Draco screamed. He felt the rage move up from his abdomen and settle right in his heart. “I am ruining her life by mere association!” He grabbed his cane around the middle and launched it across the room. Astoria winced as it collided with a vase, before clattering to the ground. Draco watched as the shattered pieces fell. He did not feel any better.

“I cannot blame her for rejecting me,” he said. “Not after this.”

“Oh, she rejected you, did she?” Astoria asked. “I must have missed that. Hermione Granger got your name tattooed on her arm, saved your fucking life, and has lost every professional accomplishment she has because she refuses to denounce you. Which part of that is rejection?”

“She did those things because she felt like she needed to,” Draco said. “We did all of this to survive and to help people, not out of love. Now we are of no use to anyone and she has lost almost everything.”

“God, you really are a moron. Tell me what happened between you, then.”

Draco shrugged.

“Tell me!”

“We were talking out at the pond, and I thought she had accepted her feelings for me. She literally told me, ‘One day I might even fall in love with you. Things were heading in a ...” He cleared his throat and didn’t finish the thought. “I made it clear what I wanted.”

“You made a move and Hermione wigged out?”

“If you want to be contrite about it, yes.”

“That doesn’t sound like rejection, it sounds like she thought fucking outside in a pond might be a bad idea.”

“I—” Draco paused. He replayed the interaction in his mind, turned it over ... Had he misinterpreted her reaction? It was of little consequence. “Either way, she keeps pulling me closer only to push me away. I cannot handle that.”

“No, you never were good at the short-term.”

“Just say it, Astoria. You never believed I would be good enough for you.”

“You believe you read my thoughts now, as well as Hermione Granger’s?” Astoria challenged. “Because I think you are the one who never believed you would be good enough for me.”

“You never gave me a chance.”

“I gave you every chance!” Astoria insisted.

“No, you didn’t! You always wanted me to be someone I am not. Be different, be more like you or more like the idea you had of me in your head.”

“You have got some fucking nerve, Draco Malfoy. You were despised by everyone but I never cared because I saw your heart. I still see it, even if it’s shrouded in a layer of idiocy. Self-loathing isn’t humility, you know.”

“And what of you?!” Draco shouted back. “Why is it not my name on your arm, Astoria?!”

“You wish to know why someone would choose Ron over you?!” she challenged.

“Enlighten me.”

“Ron changed for me,” Astoria said. “We worked together to figure out what we need and what is best for our family. We do that every fucking day! But you, Draco? You will never change for anyone!”

Draco wordlessly Summoned his cane from across the room. He wrapped his fingers around the top and slowly brushed Astoria’s shoulder as he walked past. A few moments later, he turned around and said,

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“I did change,” Draco said, “but I did it for myself.”

**.oOo.**

He knocked on Hermione’s front door but she did not answer. Draco twisted the doorknob and found it unlocked. The door swung open and he walked inside, closing it gently behind him. 

“Hermione?” he asked. 

She didn’t answer, but he heard the rustling of papers in the dining area. He followed the noise and stepped very slowly, not sure what to expect and unsure whether he had a right to be there at all. His left hand was sweating on his cane, so he paused to wipe it off on his trousers. Draco was nervous as hell; his heart beat so quickly his hands shook. He took a tentative step forward and almost tripped, his leg still weakened from therapy that morning. One foot in front of the other, slowly and steadily, praying he wouldn’t fall. 

Draco finally reached the dining area and saw Hermione practically drowning in books. She did not bother looking up at him, just kept her eyes steady as she asked,

“Come to retrieve your things?”

“No,” Draco said. “I heard you had your license revoked and thought I needed to come stop you from killing Susan.”

“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” Hermione admitted.

“I also wanted to apologize.”

“Go on then,” she said, still rustling about in her mountain of books. Her apparent indifference was almost worse than the righteous fury Draco had expected.

“Would you just ... Could you look at me for a second?”

Hermione threw down her book and Draco jumped a bit at the sound. She stood up, walked around the table, and leaned against the edge. 

“Go ahead. Apologize.”

“I am sorry you are losing everything because of me,” Draco said. “I think we could come up with a way to get it all back. If you were to break up with me, perhaps—”

“You think I want to end our relationship?!” Hermione asked. She ran a hand through her hair and said, “You are unbelievable.”

“I know how important practicing law is to you. If there is any way you can get it back we need to take that opportunity.”

“Is that what you believe?” Hermione asked. She crossed her arms across her chest and Draco noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping, at least not well.

“Is that what you want?”

“No, Draco!” she said with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know, I thought when you finally came back I would be angry. I thought I would want to scream at you, probably throw something at you for good measure because you are so goddamn infuriating. But right now all I want is to know where we went wrong.”

Draco shrugged and said, “It is hard to point back to one moment.”

“Then I don’t understand. I can’t fix us if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“What is it about me that you want to change, Hermione?” Draco asked. “What is it about me that keeps pushing you away?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “I don’t want you to change.”

“Then what do I need to do so that you are no longer afraid of me?’

“Oh, do not flatter yourself, I am not afraid of you,” Hermione snapped. “I am terrified of what I feel for you. It is like I finally understand what I want and it is you of all people?” She made a face. “How is it possible?”

“Right, this conversation makes me feel loads better,” Draco replied facetiously.

“I don’t care; this is the truth. I have known for awhile that you are someone I care for very deeply. My heart does this thing when you get close. It’s like it can’t decide whether to beat really fast or not at all, so it just skips along until you go away. I don’t want to change anything about you because I like the way you make me feel. Is it confusing as hell? Absolutely. But did you expect this to be easy for me?”

“Did I expect what to be easy?”

“Falling in love with you.”

Hermione did not hesitate in that answer. Draco wanted to believe it, but held back. It was so close, almost there, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it as truth. He shook his head and turned away.

“Now who is the one running from this?!” Hermione challenged.

Draco turned back to face her and said, “I am not running.” He took a step toward her. “I believe that you want me, Hermione, but I do not think you know how far that desire goes. I am not a path to be walked until you find a greener garden. Either I am the person you want to take a chance on, or I'm not!”

“What does that say about me, Draco? What does it say that I fell in love with a man who spent adolescence tormenting me?”

“It says I am a different man now,” he answered. “And that you are far stronger than I could ever hope to be.”

“Then what do we do?” Hermione asked. 

“I don’t know. All I can say is that I do not trust you enough to say it back.”


	21. So This Is Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One conversation that needed to happen.

Hermione hadn’t said anything, just stared at the floor until he left. It was late enough so Draco didn’t feel awkward turning around and heading to his room. It was his room now, his stuff still strewn about on the floor and all over the bathroom sink. Draco considered leaving back to the manor, but he didn’t want to. As confused and exhausted as he was by Hermione, Draco couldn’t completely tear himself away.

He slept well. Maybe it was knowing Hermione was nearby, but what did that say about him? He woke up at four, an awkward state of morning when the sun had yet to begin its creep over the horizon. Draco rested his eyes for awhile, thinking about what Astoria had said. 

_“Ron changed for me.”_

What was the point in loving someone like that? Who looks at a person and says, “I love you because you can be better?” That puts so much hope in the future, and if war taught them anything it’s that the future is never certain. Time moves even if they don’t.

Draco wasn’t moving quite as much, himself. The walking stick was helpful in public because people stopped bumping into him. His friends, especially, needed a visual reminder that he was in a delicate state. None of the shoulder-slapping, bear hugs, or playful punches unless they wanted him sprawled out on the floor. 

Most of the shame around his cane stemmed from the fact that it was his father’s. It felt right beneath his hand, though, like it fit. It was the constant pull between his desire to be part of the Malfoy legacy and distancing himself from his father. Draco rolled his head to one side and looked at the walking stick for a bit. He wondered whether it was temporary or a more permanent solution. Neither the Healers at St. Mungo’s nor Slay Knighten could tell him.

He turned to look at the ceiling and tried to concentrate on nothing but all the terrible things about his limitations continued to filter in. He couldn’t stand for more than fifteen minutes without leaning against something—or, in desperate cases, _someone._  Balancing against Hermione was nearly impossible because she was so goddamn tiny. Draco genuinely missed being able to do two things at once. Any time he needed to do something with two hands he stopped walking and paused progress to do it. It all added up to lost time.

Draco half-crawled out of bed, reached for his cane and fell on his ass the second he tried to walk. He laughed, because there was not much else he could do. Draco hoisted himself up using the side of the bed and adjusted his grip on the head of his walking stick. He trudged forward a bit slower than he would have, humbled by his stinging bum. Draco winced as his cane hit the wood floor and cracked the silence open. Hermione must have heard him coming halfway down the hall. Her door was fully ajar and Draco peeked in to see she had curled up on the left side of the bed. He rapped his knuckles softly on the doorframe and Hermione threw a pillow at him. It missed wildly and bounced off the wall.

“Go away.”

“Astoria Brownwood?” he offered.

“Bluesapphire,” Hermione grumbled. 

Draco gently slid onto the right side of the bed and let his cane rest against the side. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Was there anything that could balm his words from earlier? If there was, Draco never found it.

Eventually Hermione said, “If you plan to stay, you better get your ass under the blankets.”

He obliged, placing his walking stick against the bedside table. Then Draco wiggled until he was snug beneath the sheet. 

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

“Were you asleep?”

“No.”

“Right, okay then ...” Draco whispered. The silence of the morning somehow made this more intimate than any moment they had shared before. It was enough to tempt him into silence for awhile, but a few minutes later he admitted, “Perhaps I was a bit harsh.”

“A bit?” Hermione asked. Her voice cracked and her back was still turned to him. “I told you I love you and your response was, ‘I don’t trust you.’”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yup,” she replied, popping her lips on the “P.”

“For being honest?”

“I blame you for not asking why I felt the need to step back. When I told you to stop last week, I didn’t mean I wanted you to stop touching me. I meant we needed to stop and consider whether it was wise to have sex in a place where a house-elf or Merlin forbid your parents could walk by.”

Draco huffed and said, “I just thought we had finally gotten to a point where we both knew what we wanted.”

“What part of me ripping your shirt off makes you think shagging you was not what I wanted? Bloody hell, I could hardly get out of my own top fast enough. I wanted it, wanted _you_.”

Draco’s heart sank a little.

“I am truly sorry.”

“You know what the most surprising part of all this is?” Hermione asked. She answered her own question before Draco could get a word in. “I said that I love you first.”

“Why did you?”

“Because I thought it would make you say it back. And the entire time you were away, the only thing I wanted was for you to come back. Which made me feel like total shit, by the way, so thanks for that.”

“It was not my intent.”

“Yes it was.”

“Oh, are you a Legilimens now?” Draco challenged.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He sighed and admitted, “You are not. In my defense, I did nearly die, so I think I am entitled to one overreaction.”

“Your entire life is one extended overreaction,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I don’t believe that will ever change.”

“Probably not, but at least you know who I am. That is the sort of thing that truly confuses me about this place. Do you think it is right to fall in love with a person because of who they could become?”

Hermione didn’t answer for awhile. Her breaths were so steady that Draco thought she might have fallen asleep. 

“No, I don’t think it is right,” she finally said, “and that is my biggest problem being in this world. We are who we choose to become, and we all have so many different choices, don’t we? You can’t guess who someone will be, or that they will love who you become. I read the entirety of Romilda’s book and I think it’s a bunch of Hippogriff shit to think that way. The entire point of her book is to say that a soulmate can be whatever you choose for them to be: a friend, a lover, or anything else. But it doesn’t mean your soulmate gets to change who you are.”

“I agree.”

“And I told you I don’t want you to change,” Hermione said. “But you expect me to change for you. You want me to move faster.”

“No,” Draco insisted, “no, that is not what I want. It is the backward progression that I hate; you stringing me along like a bloody book you want to read, but only a few pages at a time. You will pick me back off the shelf in a few days when I am interesting again. God, it is like every time we kiss you start to pull away from me.”

“Because I like it.”

Draco didn’t know what to say, but Hermione didn’t clarify it any. He looked over but still only saw a bunch of frizzy curls above the blanket.

“So the problem is that we get on too well?” he asked.

“No, we just moved too fast,” Hermione said.

“A month and two brushes with death is too fast?” Draco teased.

Hermione groaned.

“Shut up.”

“This is it?” Draco pressed. “We are not going to talk about it at all?”

“We’ll talk about it when I am not falling asleep.”

“I will leave you to your dreams, then,” Draco said. He moved to get up, but Hermione rolled over and put a hand on his arm.

“Maybe just let me sleep and try not to steal the blanket this time.”


	22. Talk It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can't avoid talking about their almost-shag and declaration of love forever ... Can they?

**Wednesday, July 5th**

Draco heard Hermione get out of bed to take a shower. He wasn’t tired, but he was not ready to get up either. He laid there and listened to the sound of water hitting the shower floor. Hermione took her sweet time about it, and Draco wondered what exactly she was doing in there. Perhaps she was thinking of him, just as he was thinking about the feel of her against him when they finally fell asleep. A few moments after the water stopped, he rolled over to see Hermione coming out in her robe, hair pulled back and frizzy from the steam.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

**Thursday, July 6th**

Draco returned home from CODE around 5:00 to see Hermione hunched over her rolltop desk. Several books were spread out on the floor around her chair and one rested against the back of the desk so she could read as she scribbled notes. Draco leaned against the doorframe and smiled.

“Four days out of work and you are already going mad.”

“I’m bored.”

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Hermoine shook her head and said, “Not that bored.”

**Friday, July 7th**

Hermione came over to his spot at the table late in the afternoon. She offered him paper and six of those ink sticks in varying colours.

“I need you to draw the Sword of Gryffindor for me.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and said, “When you said you might keep it, I thought you were joking.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Draco pretended to pout, but he was happy for any excuse to use the ink sticks. God, the shading alone was so much easier. Once he finished the outline Draco asked,

“Where do you plan to put it?”

Hermione shook her head and said, “I don’t know yet. I’ll talk it over with Pansy, but I need it.”

“Why?” Draco asked. “What about this makes you feel safe? You know the protection runes do nothing. My name, the dragon, the flowers ... Why do you do all this?”

“It reminds me of what I survived.”

Draco nodded and focused on the drawing. He wanted to get it right if Hermione was serious about getting it tattooed.

“I spent so many years with the whole world trying to tell me who I am. _Mudblood. Genius. The Golden Girl,_ ” she spat. “I like the art on my arm and I like that everyone sees your name there. This here, with you, is the first time I get to write my own story. Being dumped here with you was much more of a blessing than I ever would have thought. I like being in control of my life, even if it isn’t truly mine, and I want to remember how it feels. What I went through.”

Draco nodded again. He grabbed the red stick and began colouring the rubies.

“Pansy had the idea for the dragon as a symbol of power, and I felt so powerless while you were in hospital. Of course, I thought of you the moment she suggested a dragon. She thought the flowers made it more delicate and I thought they were pretty. It feels nice having our journey together on display.”

“It doesn’t feel right to me.”

“No?”

“No,” Draco repeated. “You would cover yourself in ink before talking things through with me.”

“That is not true,” Hermione insisted. 

Draco handed her the paper and asked, “When you told me you love me, did you mean it or were you just hoping I would say it back?”

“Both.”

“And if I were to say I love you, what would you say then?”

“I would tell you that I want you in every part of my story from now on. My life, all of it, because I go as you go.”

**Saturday, July 8th**

Draco went to visit Mrs. Greengrass that morning because Mr. Greengrass was out to the pharmacy. Astoria wasn’t there, but Draco had always liked her mum. She helped him through all the things he was afraid to tell his mother. Fourth year when he realized he had a crush on Blaise, then sixth year when he couldn't trust anyone else with his fear, and eighth year when he went back to school and everyone hated him. Everything he loved about Astoria was something she got from her mother.

Mrs. Greengrass was reading in the living area when Draco arrived. He shooed away the house-elf and bent to hug her. She gave him a weak embrace and Draco realized just how quickly her disease must be progressing. Her smile was weak and her eyes were droopy— _fatigue._ Draco had seen this before.

“Ague,” she confirmed. 

Draco took the seat across from her and frowned. His grandfather had died of Ague when he was little.

“I was diagnosed on holiday in America.”

“America?” Draco asked, confused.

“Visiting Daphne. My husband was furious with me when he found out, but she is our _daughter._  Merlin, he is so stubborn.” She paused to hack into a handkerchief. 

Draco considered getting up and reaching out to her, but Mrs. Greengrass waved him away.

“I love him, but our children are far more important than whomever they married. Daphne is happy and very much in love. Astoria is just the same, and I believe that is as much as I could have asked for in this life.”

“Don’t,” Draco insisted, “don’t talk about this like you are dying.”

“I am dying,” she replied. “I was given a bad batch of Calming Draught to soothe the coughing and it just made everything worse. There is no cure for this, only waiting.”

“That’s ...” Draco searched for the words. This whole world was upside-down. Horrible people were left in charge of the lawmaking and good people were shunted aside and forced to live half-lives all because there wasn’t a name on their goddamn arm. It all needed to change. It needed to stop. “It is not fair.”

“No,” Mrs. Greengrass agreed, “but it is what we have. And the only thing I wish was that you and Astoria were meant to be together. The Weasley boy is fine, he tries, you know ...”

“I know more about Ron Weasley than I would ever care to,” Draco quipped.

Mrs. Greengrass laughed and said, “He is better than most of the men Astoria could have chosen. He is a great father to Rose and a good husband, but he is rather simple in motive and behaviour. Perhaps that is what Astoria needs but I will always wish I had you for a son, Draco.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. Goddamn. He thought this universe had taken everything from him, but around every corner there was something Draco never realized he could lose. Mrs. Greengrass kept smiling.

“Is the Granger girl the one you want?”

Draco nodded. 

“Why?”

He shrugged and admitted, “Because she trusted me when she had no reason to.”

“That is not a reason, Draco,” Mrs. Greengrass insisted. “What part of her makes you feel she is your soulmate? What is it in you that comes to life when she is nearby?”

“I feel wanted,” he whispered. “She chose me, and no one else ever put me first.”

“She feeds your ego, then? Is that all?”

“I suppose she gives me hope. Hermione could take over the entire world if she desired it. She could have damned me to life in Azkaban or cursed me in my sleep, but I trusted her not to. Hermione Granger is a good person and if someone that good finds anything redeeming in me, then it has to be there, doesn’t it? All I want to do is make sure she can do her work. I want her to succeed in making the world a better place for everyone, even if that means freeing every house-elf in the goddamn world, I don’t care anymore. I just want her to fix things because she is the only person who can. And I love that.”

“Do you love _her_?” Mrs. Greengrass asked.

Draco nodded.

“Have you told her as much?”

He shook his head.

“Then what the hell are you doing here with me?!” she teased. “My daughters are happy, Draco, and I want the same for you. I want to see that.”

Draco wiped away the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He nodded.

“I hope to make that happen.”

He wished he was more confident in it, but he and Hermione still hadn’t talked through anything meaningful. He hugged Mrs. Greengrass again before he left. His heart was heavy and Merlin knew he didn’t need anything else weighing him down. He heard the front door open as he entered the foyer and Draco brushed shoulders with Rowan Khanna, of all people, on the way out. 

“Coward,” Draco mumbled.

Rowan whispered back, “I had no choice with my vote.”

“There is always a choice, and you betrayed a friend. You may think I am shit, but at least my friends can depend on my loyalty.”

“You don’t understand, Malfoy.” He glanced down at the walking stick for a brief moment then returned his gaze to Draco’s face. “I am sorry for everything, truly, I am.”

“Oh, I understand,” Draco countered, “and I see you for the craven bastard you are.”

He Disapparated before Rowan could say any more.

**.oOo.**

Draco returned home that night to see Hermione with her face practically stuffed into a carton of takeaway noodles. There was a thin wrapping around her left forearm and his stomach nearly fell out of his bum at the sight. Had she covered up his name?

“Don’t get your trunks in a twist,” Hermione said once she finished slurping some noodles. “Your name is there.” She offered her arm for Draco to inspect. 

He looked through the clear covering to see her entire forearm covered by his Sword of Gryffindor, just as he’d drawn it a day earlier. Right there in the middle of it all, where Godric Gryffindor’s name should be, was _Draco_. It looked quite badass and he was stunned for a moment that not only was his name on Hermione’s skin but so was his art. 

Draco leaned down to kiss her. It was quick and chaste, a promise of more to come.

“Tomorrow?”

Hermione nodded and agreed, “Tomorrow.”

**Sunday, July 9th**

They tried to talk about it in the morning. 

Hermione made eggs and Draco sat at the table, picking at them with his fork until she said something.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I might go mad if we don’t,” Hermione added.

Draco asked, “Do you know how to make anything besides eggs?”

“I can do pancakes if the occasion is right. You?”

“I am fairly adept at breakfast, but dinner is a weakness I will admit to,” Draco teased.

“Are you going to keep changing the subject?”

“I don’t know what to say, so if you could just ask me a question I will answer it.”

She took a deep breath and said, “I hate this. I can’t, I don’t know what to ask, or how to ask what I need to know. I lost my job and I have been going mad the past few days because I don’t know what to do without it. The only thing that I know will be here in my life is you, and then you weren’t here.”

“I am sorry,” Draco said. He put his fork down. “I overreacted and misinterpreted you last week. When you finally let your guard down and I thought we were going to ...”

“We were going to.”

“Right,” Draco mumbled. “I thought it meant that we both want each other in the same way. But I don’t think you know what you want from me. I want to be your boyfriend. I would like that, but only if you want it, too.”

“I think I want more than that,” Hermione admitted. “I want you to be my soulmate, my boyfriend, my ... I dunno. Here, you are my person, right? But I think about going home, because we are going to get home somehow, Draco, we have to. I think about going back and I don’t want to change what we have when we get back to our lives.”

He grinned and said, “I do not want to lose you either.”

“Then ... I don’t know.”

Draco groaned.

“How about you tell me what you want, Hermione. Tell me what your ideal outcome is here.”

“You get to run again.”

Draco was surprised that was the first thing she thought about. It was one of the first things on his list, sure, but why hers?

“I see you and me together; sleeping together, shagging, waking up together, maybe shagging again if it’s good.”

“It will be good, love, give me some credit,” he teased.

“I can’t imagine my home without you in it,” Hermione added. “I like this life, other than you nearly dying and me losing my job ...” She paused to reconsider. “Perhaps I don’t like this life, but I like being this close to you. If your time away taught me anything, it is that staying away from you is not something I want to do anymore. I want you in my life.”

“I want to be there for you,” Draco added.

“What do you see for us?”

“You get your job back.” 

Hermione looked a bit surprised that was his answer. He laughed.

“I know how much you love helping people, and I want you to have that. I see us together in the manor or at your empty house, I don’t fucking care. My bed or yours, I don’t fucking care. Hermione, I just want to be near you so I can snog you and laugh with you and hold you because sometimes I am not entirely sure this is real. For the first time in my entire life, I have found someone who never wants me to be anyone but who I am. You are the first person to trust that is enough, and I will spend every moment trying to prove you right.”

“Sounds a bit like a proposal there, babe,” Hermione teased. She looked away, and Draco realized that he wanted it to be one.


	23. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is his own worst enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on July 12th and 13th.
> 
> TW: Coarse language.  
> TW: Bom Chicka Wow Wow.  
> TW: Draco being an idiot in love.

“FOCUS!”

Sweat dripped from Draco’s hairline and slid slowly down the side of his face. He shook his hair out of his eyes and focused on standing still.

“Good!” Knighten said. “You are doing so well, Malfoy, just thirty more seconds, mate.”

Draco thought he might die in thirty seconds. His back was pressed against the wall of the manor ballroom, the only room without furniture to ruin. Draco’s fingers clutched at the wall for purchase and found none, while his walking stick was propped against the wall a full metre away. He was standing under his own power, but it hurt. Draco clenched his teeth together against the pain and focused on keeping his magic controlled within his left leg. He accidentally slammed his head back against the wall, but that pain was nothing compared to the agony of keeping all his magic _right there_. The rest of his body was empty without that spark, but he could feel his leg and the tightness of muscles that were barely used.

“Fifteen seconds more.”

That wasn’t enough. He pushed off the wall and took a step forward with his good leg. He moved his injured leg forward to meet it and smiled when he didn’t fall. Knighten rushed to his side saying,

“Malfoy, don’t push this. You have done well so far and you don’t need to prove anything.”

Yes, he did. He needed to prove to himself that he would walk again. When Draco took the next step forward, however, all the magic in his left leg seemed to explode. He growled  _FUCK!_ as it forced itself back to its rightful places in his body. Draco collapsed into Knighten’s arms and Slay lowered him to a sitting position on the ground. It was humiliating, depending on someone else to save him from gravity. Draco clenched his fists and had a sudden urge to hit something. Knighten brought over the walking stick and helped Draco up once he was fit enough.

“Do you think I am an idiot, Malfoy?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think I am bad at my job?”

“No, I would never—”

“Then why the bloody hell would you try to walk before I tell you to?!”

“Because I want to walk again!” Draco shouted. He scrubbed at his face with his fingertips. “Nothing else is going right and this is the one thing I can control. I can’t run, let alone walk on my own. I need this to go faster.”

“You can’t manipulate your body’s timing, Draco. This is not something you can control and you are not entitled to anything. Shut up and listen to me when I say you are doing a good job. The rest of the day is a waste now; you’ll be too burnt out to do any more.”

“No, I think I am ready to continue. I _need_ to continue.”

The glare Slay Knighten gave him would rival his father’s worst. Draco felt very much like a child again. He muttered,

“What else can this world possibly take from me?”

“That is not a question you want answered.”

“I just want to be able to do this one thing,” Draco huffed. “Hermione does everything. She moves forward and I do not want her to have to wait for me. I do not want to hold her back.”

"Stop assuming you know what is best, and that you know what everyone else thinks,” Knighten countered. “When I tell you that you are making progress and doing well, it is because you are progressing well. If Hermione has told you that everything is fine, you should try believing her.”

**.oOo.**

It became clear that Knighten was right and Draco was completely burnt out. He took a shower, hugged his mother good-bye, then promised to visit again in a few days. She understood that he needed to be with Hermione, but Draco hadn't told his father yet. That conversation would be difficult enough after five glasses of Firewhisky. He Apparated back to Hampstead around six and landed a bit too forcefully on the porch. Draco sagged against the door before pushing himself up. He knocked and Hermione was there a few moments later. She opened the door and smiled, though it faltered a bit once she got a good look at him. Draco supposed he must look as awful as he felt.

He crossed the threshold and said, “I am fine,” because he knew Hermione needed to hear it.

She stood on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, then a lingering kiss against his lips. Draco wandlessly shut the door behind them. They hadn’t done this in weeks, snogged like it meant something other than being part of a routine. Draco needed it, needed to be grounded in reality after a day when everything seemed to go wrong. Hermione let up after a minute and Draco lightly tugged one of her curls. Every problem, every worry from before seemed so pointless once he had Hermione in his arms, but he was desperately exhausted. It was the sort of adrenaline crash that came from being in a safe place in a world that was anything but.

Draco sagged a bit against her and tightened his grip on the walking stick. Hermione’s hair was not a half-bad pillow, soft against his cheek. He thought about how safe he felt in that moment, with someone far more powerful than he could ever hope to be. Nothing bad could happen if Hermione held onto him just like this. 

“You say the sweetest things when you’re exhausted, babe.”

Draco pried his eyes open to see her smiling at him from the other side of the bed. When did he close his eyes? And, oh Merlin, his leg throbbed. For having lost most of the feeling in it, he sure as hell felt that.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"It is nearing ten now, so about four hours," Hermione answered. “I take it therapy was difficult today?”

“I pushed too hard again,” Draco mumbled. “Just like I pushed you into saying you love me.”

Hermione laughed and said, “I am surprised you think you can push me into anything.”

“Haven’t I?” Draco pressed. The anger from the afternoon came back in one crushing wave. “You only said you love me once I made myself unavailable.” He hardly believed the words, and Hermione didn’t buy them at all.

“Are you calling me a liar?” she challenged. “After I sat at your bedside for ten days, praying that you would come back to me? Every time you close your eyes I worry whether I will lose you for good this time.”

“But I keep holding you back.”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “You make me stronger. You make me see things where I saw nothing before. You make sense out of chaos and I love that about you. And I do love you, no matter how many times I have to say it before you believe I mean it. You don’t have to say it back, babe," she said, placing a hand on his knee. "You told me that in CODE you finally found a fight worth leading. Well, in you I finally found a person who is worth all my heart and I would not leave you for anything.”

He believed it. Draco sat up and kissed her, hot and sweet. He felt Hermione’s fingers as they charted a path from his knee to his thigh. His breath stuttered for a moment before she changed course onto his hip.

“Bloody tease,” he groaned. “If I was not in such a delicate state, the things I would be doing to you right now ...”

Hermione pulled back the slightest bit and whispered against his lips.

“Tell me and I’ll do them for you.”

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him again, heavy and insistent. Draco only had a moment to freak out and wonder, _Is this happening?_ before Hermione gently pushed him back so his back rested against the pile of pillows.

Any restraint or reservations Draco might have had dissipated once Hermione shifted to straddle his legs. Hermione deepened their kiss and ground her pelvis into his, swallowed Draco’s moan of pleasure and tugged at his shirt. She pushed herself away, far enough to look down at Draco, who surveyed her in return. Hermione’s pupils were blown wide, lines fanned out from the sides of her eyes, but it was her kiss-bitten lips that really spurred things along. Draco’s trousers were suddenly very tight as he wondered what Hermione’s mouth would look like wrapped around his dick.

Draco nodded down toward his shirt and said, “I want you to take this off now.”

Hermione nodded and helped Draco get the shirt over his head. She tossed it onto the floor and stared at the three raised lines crossing Draco’s chest. It was the first time she'd gotten a good look at them, and he couldn't figure out what to do or how to react to the way her eyes skated over them. He held his breath, waiting for some sort of reaction.

“May I touch them?”

Draco nodded and Hermione pressed the pads of her fingers against the top one. Draco’s breath stuttered again, nerves, but he was reminded of how Astoria had once done the same thing. This was different, as Hermione continued her exploration for minutes, trying to memorize the feel of him beneath her hands.

“That’s enough,” Draco said, uncomfortable being the focus of the moment. “Take your shirt off, now.”

“Bossy, much?” Hermione teased as she unbuttoned her shirt.

“Do it slowly,” he demanded.

She complied. One by one, the buttons exposed the swell of her breasts, then her bra, and finally opened to reveal the softness of her stomach. She shrugged the top off and tossed it over the side of the bed like it was nothing. Draco’s nerves evaporated in favour of primal, carnal need. Hermione’s hips rocked against Draco like she ached to be touched between her legs. He bent his knee a bit and allowed Hermione to grind against his thigh. He pulled Hermione down into another kiss by the nape of her neck as he pushed his thigh back up against her.

“Oh, God, yes."

“‘Draco will do, love.”

“You have to earn that joke,” Hermione quipped back.

"Oh, I plan to,” he said with a smirk. He snuck his hands beneath her trousers to cup her bum.

Hermione rocked into his thigh, then back into his palms and forward again. She kept at it for several moments, rolling her hips back and forth until Draco’s dick strained against the waistband of his trackies. She smiled down at him, teasing him, making a show of nonchalance though she showed no sign of stopping.

Draco moved his hands up her back and said, “Your trousers are in the way.”

“I could get off like this,” Hermione admitted.

Draco grinned and kissed the swell of one breast.

“But do you want to?”

Hermione shook her head and quickly unbuttoned her trousers. She slid her thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear and shuffled the trousers and knickers down to her knees. Draco’s breath caught in his throat as he allowed himself another moment of, _Holy hell, we’re doing this._ Hermione pulled one leg up and out before sliding the other side off with her foot. Draco didn’t get a chance to look before Hermione was kissing him again.

Draco pushed one of Hermione’s bra straps off her shoulder and said, “I want to see you.”

Hermione wasted no time in complying, unhooking her bra from the back and tossing it onto the floor. Draco counted slowly up her ribcage as he took in the sight. He pushed some of her hair back behind her shoulder and kneaded one breast, teasing the nipple until it was pert between his fingers. She was a bit impatient, and the next thing Draco knew his trackies and pants had been magicked onto the floor. He laughed and it was Hermione’s turn to drink him in. He couldn’t help but be a bit self-conscious under her searing gaze.

“Nearly four weeks I’ve been unable to run, so I am a bit softer ‘round the edges now.”

Hermione shook her head and said, “You’re here, and that is all I can ask for.”

His heart did a little flip. His whole chest seemed to try to escape from his ribcage when she said it. God, there was no shyness about her anymore. Not that Draco had expected her to be a quiet one on the job, but she was  _confident._ She wanted this as much as he did. Hermione nudged his ankle with her toes and said,

“Your move.”

Draco smiled and pulled her close, so her tits were pressed against his chest. Their kiss was long and slow as Draco’s hands wandered over Hermione’s shoulders and down her back to cup her bum once again. He pulled her close and rolled his hips so Hermione could feel how hard he was against her thigh. She ran her leg along his and Draco, impatient himself, pulled her thighs down toward him. She rutted against him and he felt how wet she was, how much she wanted this. Draco closed his eyes and leaned back for a moment to catch his breath.

“Too much?” Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head and looked at her again. She was smiling at him, running her hands up and down his arms, waiting. She ground against him again, unashamed. Draco placed a hand against her stomach and Hermione nodded, encouraging him to go downward. Instead, he moved up, hand cupping one breast while he nipped at the other with his lips and tongue. Hermione threw her head back and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Sorry, what was that?” Draco teased.

“Said you’re the tease now,” she said, breathless. Then Hermione arched her back a bit, giving him better access. Draco alternated his attention, sucking one breast as he continued his work on the other with his fingers. He looked up to see Hermione’s face relaxed, eyes closed and mouth parted the slightest bit as she let him work. He’d only ever caught glimpses of her inhibition when she slept, and this ... Everything they had been through was worth it to get here.

“I don’t think I have seen a better sight in either universe,” he said.

Hermione opened her eyes and scoffed, “Please, there’s no need for flattery, you can feel how much I want you right now.”

“Not flattery, just stating the truth,” Draco countered. He slowly ran his hand down the centre of Hermione’s stomach, and this time he didn’t stop. He ran one finger over her clit and down until he was two knuckles deep inside her. He lingered only for a moment before following the same path back up her belly.

“More of that, if you like,” Hermione sputtered out. She kept running her hands over Draco, searching for a place to anchor herself. Hermione’s fingers left his skin sensitized everywhere they touched. By the time she settled her hands on his shoulders, his skin burned with her touch. Hermione's breath came in hot pants against his neck.

“God, I hate this about you,” she said.

“What is that?”

“I can hardly stand the way you feel against me right now. Just the slightest bit inside me and I was ready to come undone. But how the hell do you have this much control?”

Draco laughed and said, “I have to have control in one area of my life, at least.”

“Then what do I have to do for you to let go?”

“Ask.”

Hermione looked him in the eyes and sank down so Draco’s dick rubbed between her folds. His breath hitched and he muttered,

“Bloody minx.”

“You’re cracking a bit, babe,” she teased, rocking her hips up and back again. “It’s okay to take what you want.”

Draco groaned and fell back into the pillows. Hermione followed him down eagerly, her mouth hard against his and her hands fisted in the pillowcases by his head.

Hermione leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Tell me what you want from me."

Draco groaned, and it managed to turn into a laugh somewhere along the way. He kissed her softly and wrapped his hands around either side of her waist.

“I just want this,” he said, pulling back. "To feel you against me so I know you're real, and hold you like I will never have to let go." He tilted her head to the side and the kiss wasn’t so delicate. It was all slick lips and warm tongues, his hands skimming down her sides, skating over her ribs, feeling her tremble beneath his touch. He pressed one finger against her clit and she jolted forward. He rubbed it in soft circles and said, “Pay more attention to me.”

Hermione understood and began working her way down his neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses behind. She paused on his chest and pressed soft kisses against each of the scars she found there, including the newest smattering along his left side. She moved down his stomach and placed her hands on his hips. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes and Draco tensed, understanding what was to come. She grinned again, knowing how far this would test his control, and licked a single line from the base of his cock straight up to the tip. Draco closed his eyes and sank further into the pillows.

“Hermione,” he said, a little breathless, “as much as I would love to see where this could take me, I will not last much longer.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned. Hermione quickly palmed his dick and said, “Let go, Draco. Just let go.”

He did not need to be told twice. Draco sat up, wrapped his hands beneath Hermione’s arms, and pulled her up so they were chest-to-chest once again. Hermione pressed herself heavily against his hips and they were through with the teasing. He didn’t have to ask for Hermione to straddle and sink down onto him with one long, shaky breath.

“Fucking hell, Hermione.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for days,” she admitted. She pushed up a bit then slid back down as she amended, “More like weeks.”

“Hmm,” Draco hummed. “Did you think about it here, in bed?”

Hermione nodded.

“Me too,” he admitted. The air was thick between them and Hermione gently pressed their foreheads together. Draco said, “I listened to you in the shower and wanted nothing more than to be in there with you.”

“Wanted you there,” Hermione mumbled as she rocked her hips again. The red flush of arousal on her face had spread down her neck and across her chest. For the first time since they arrived in this dimension, she looked happy. Draco was absolutely fucking wrecked. Hermione laced her fingers behind his neck and Draco reached up to cup her cheek. She moved her hands down to his shoulders and pushed up a bit before bearing down on him again. Draco gently caressed her lips with his thumb, until Hermione took his finger between her lips. She ran her tongue over the round edge of his nail and Draco used his free hand to caress her neck, giving her a shaky grin.

Hermione let his thumb slip free with an obscene pop and Draco moved his hand to cup her breast once again. He wrapped his other arm tight around her waist and snogged her; nearly every part of him burned hot with her kisses but he still wanted more. He rocked up inside of her and moaned against her lips.

“Was worried,” Draco said, rocking his hips up, feeling her wet warmth and kissing her cheek, “that I wouldn’t have the strength for this. Every time I— _fucking hell, do that again!”_

Hermione reached a hand between them and trailed her fingers across Draco’s pelvis before touching her clit. Draco felt her clench around him and she asked,

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he agreed. “Just like that.”

“All those nights when we don’t share a bed? I hoped you would come in during the night and do this,” Hermione revealed. “I think about you in the shower, and before I go to sleep, hell, now that I have so much time alone I think about this all the time.”

“I’m so close, Hermione,” he admitted, his voice a little strangled. He sped up his thrusts and Hermione threw her head back, exposing her neck. Draco leaned forward to suck on that part where Hermione’s neck joined to her shoulder and listened to the garbled _Please, more, yes, fuck yes, like that_ , coming from her mouth. Draco dipped his thumb right down to the place their bodies joined together and pressed harder against her clit, rubbing in harried circles.

Hermione desperately whined, “Draco,” and any restraint he had dissipated. He pulled her down onto him, into the rocking of his hips, and she fell over the edge, fingers tightening in his hair as she fell forward onto his chest. Hermione muffled her moans into his shoulder, hips rocking frantically as she rode out her orgasm. Draco came moments later, being inside Hermione, having her tits pressed against his chest, and his name on her lips ... It was all a bit much.

He sank back into the pillows, taking Hermione down with him. Draco pressed his forehead against her temple as he pulled out. She breathed his name against his cheek and he pulled her into another kiss, one far more lazy and satiated than they’d had in a while. It was gentle and, well, happy.

They untangled themselves far too quickly for Draco’s liking and Hermione rolled over onto her side of her bed. Was it their bed, now? Draco peeled away some of the hair sticking to the sweat on Hermione’s forehead. She pushed toward him again and nuzzled into sloppy kisses with him, hands tugging on his hair and one leg situated between Draco’s.

“I enjoyed that.”

“I know,” Draco teased.

Hermione laughed and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“I love you, you know.”

Draco tensed up as he nodded, but Hermione wasn’t phased.

“I wish you’d say it back,” she said, “but you don’t have to. I just don’t want you to question where I am at in this anymore. And I’d like for you sleep here. With me, I mean, in my bed ...”

“That can be arranged,” Draco replied with a smile. He looked up at the ceiling and said, “Besides, I am so wrecked right now I could hardly walk to the bathroom, let alone my bed.”

“I meant tomorrow,” Hermione said. “I want you to wake up with me tomorrow, and I want you to sleep here tomorrow.”

“I dunno, I’ll have to think about it,” Draco said.

Hermione playfully bit down on his collarbone.

“Of course I will sleep with you tomorrow ... Whatever form that takes,” Draco teased.

Hermione rolled on top of him so her tits were sitting right on his chest and said, “I think I know exactly what form it is going to take.”

**.oOo.**

Draco woke up to see Hermione on her side of the bed, nose in a book with a quill writing of its own accord on the nightstand. He blinked a few times before he could see the parchment.

“Morning!” Hermione said, far too chipper.

Draco groggily asked, “Is it?”

“Yes. I’ve made an appointment with Susan on Monday, so I’m working out a case that I think will work.”

“Maybe try, ‘I’m sorry your entire family was killed by Death Eaters but this is not the answer?’”

“Something that _will work,_ ” Hermione repeated. “But you can go back to sleep if you like.”

“Nah,” Draco groaned. “I am on babysitting duty today.”

“Oh! Do you get to spend the day with your godchildren? I have a gift for Sebastien, it’s a book on magical creatures. I picked it up at Flourish and Blotts—”

“Yes, yes, continue the long line of people who like you better than they like me,” Draco teased.

Hermione’s face fell.

“Oh. I didn’t realize ... You don’t have to take it to him."

"I was just joking, love," Draco insisted. "Of course I'll take it to him. Besides, I will always be Scarlett's favourite. Now, to this business with Susan ..."

"It's an informal thing," Hermione replied. "The two of us and Susan, talking this out, coming to an agreement before the Wizengamot convenes to hear the bill. That she agreed to see us at all means there is room to work toward compromise."

"I do not want compromise, Hermione, I want this bill dead."

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Of course I trust you, but—"

"Then let me do my job, Draco!" she shouted. "Let me help you and my friends and your friends. I can do this."

"Am I to just sit back and watch as you solve a problem that doesn't affect you?"

"It does affect me, you moron!" Hermione pressed. She returned her gaze to her book and said, "I won't get to marry the man I love. It does affect me."

"And I get to be your worthless boyfriend once again?" Draco said, grabbing his walking stick. "Wonderful."

"I made the appointment for _us_ , not for me. You know, when I called you worthless I did it to hurt you but I had no idea it would cut you so deeply. I am sorry."

Draco nodded stiffly and said, "I am going to bathe now, then head to Theo's."

Hermione asked, "Would you like me to join you?"

"No."

**.oOo.**

“How are things with Granger?”

“Fine,” Draco mumbled as he tossed more of Sebastien’s toys into the bin. “Things are fine.”

“Judging by the concussion you just gave Faithe the Phoenix, things are not fine.”

Draco kicked at the carpet and said, “We talked.”

“Good talk? Bad talk? Small talk?”

“We like each other ...”

“And?” Theo asked.

“This whole time Hermione has been saying we moved too fast but she finally told me that she loves me so now I am the one who wants to slow down.”

“Well if she loves you and you are so obviously in love with her, I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“The problem,” Draco said, “is that I cannot say it back.” 

“Sorry?”

“I know.” Draco plopped onto the edge of Seb’s bed and groaned. “I know, God. I love her so much but I don’t believe her when she says it to me. You all see it on my face any time I am around her, but Hermione is not like that. Astoria was so open and eager to love me but Hermione has fought it every step of the way.” 

“Look, mate, I am the last person you should come to for this sort of advice. I told Trace I loved her when I was seventeen, proposed at eighteen, and married her at twenty. I never had to fight for her because she never had to fight for me. We are happy and we have a family we are proud of. You and Granger aren’t like us and that’s okay as long as the sex is good and the love is true.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?” Draco asked. 

“Those tits.” 

“They are great tits,” Draco agreed. 

Theo shouted, “I knew it!” and lightly slapped Draco on the shoulder. “I knew you’d shag her as soon as you had the strength to. Was it amazing?” 

“Which time?” Draco teased. Before Theo could interject Draco admitted, “I am only joking. It happened last night and it was just really easy. She was perfect.” Draco felt himself going red at the memory. “She worked around everything I couldn’t do and made it so easy. I was never afraid to let her touch me and she was just brilliant at everything.” 

“Right, right, so I’m looking at the barmy smile on your face right now and my only question is how the hell you haven’t dropped to a knee, confessed your love and asked to keep shagging her for as long as you both shall live.”


	24. If You Like It, Then ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy continues to sabotage his own love life ... Until he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place from July 12th-15th, 2006.
> 
> TW: Coarse language  
> TW: Implied banging

**Wednesday Night**

Draco knew he needed to make it up to her. He kept his promise and slept in her bed even though they were still a bit distant. He made a peace offering.

“Astoria Brownchocolate?”

“Cousin to Astoria Whitechocolate,” she shot back.

Draco’s entire body sagged with relief; Theo was right that he had been a complete ass. He scooted closer to Hermione and nudged her leg with his knee.

“I apologize for being a dick this morning.”

“Apology mostly accepted. Besides, you look different now and I can’t stay mad at you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You smile more than I remember.”

“I am happier now,” he admitted. 

The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. Hermione had a soft, sleepy smile on her face and Draco was completely besotted. She had to know. She had to because Draco couldn’t get the grin off his face. But he still couldn’t find it in himself to say _I love you_ aloud. Did it matter any other way?

**Thursday Morning**

Hermione rolled off of him and smashed her face into a pillow. Draco turned to face her and asked,

“Am I forgiven?”

“A couple dozen times over,” she grumbled.

“Shower?”

“Absolutely.”

He could’ve said it then. _I love you_. He could have said it over breakfast. _You make decent bacon and oh, by the way, I love you._ He could have said it when she dashed out the door to lunch with Potter and Ron fucking Weasley. _Good-bye, and I love you._ But he didn’t.

**Friday Morning**

Was it possible to have two homes? While Malfoy Manor always felt familiar, like Draco belonged there, he was just as comfortable at Hermione’s house. More specifically, in Hermione’s bed. It took a lot of convincing for him to leave. 

Draco returned to the manor and found his father sitting in one of the exterior rooms, reading the latest issue of _Wizards Quarterly_. Before Draco could say anything, his father tossed the magazine onto the side table and stood up.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon, my son. Take a walk with me.”

Draco groaned low in his throat. His father never cared about making things easy, why would he start now? Draco followed his father onto one of the garden paths, struggling to keep pace. The sky was bright blue and free of clouds; the perfect complement to the varying shades of green around the manor gardens and a complete contrast to the maelstrom in his head. The snakehead handle of the walking stick was uncomfortable against his palm as he tried not to fall too far behind. From about a metre back, he heard his father say,

“I believe I know why you are here, Draco, but I want to hear it from you.”

Draco huffed and his words came out in short bursts. He kept pace better than he expected, but it remained nowhere near normal.

“Hermione and I are, um, well ...” He nearly tripped over himself. “You know I never wanted to disappoint you, father.”

 _Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot._ Lucius Malfoy slowed down to match his son’s speed. He rolled his eyes and said,

“I do not consider the Granger girl a failure if that is your concern, Draco. If the soulmate magic says you are destined to be together then it must be so.”

“I don’t give a damn about the soulmate nonsense, father!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco,” he pointed to a bench and said, “sit down. Your pace is pathetic.”

Draco obliged and gingerly sat down onto a bench, barely thirty metres from the manor.

“You know, father, I agree with you. I am pathetic, but not for the reasons you believe.”

“I imagine you consider whatever is going on in your head to be my fault,” he replied.

“For days, I have been working up the courage to tell Hermione I love her, but I never have. I did not believe her when she said she loved me.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow and said, “The Granger girl does not strike me as a liar.”

“She is not. I finally figured out why I cannot tell her something everyone else already knows.” Draco leaned the cane against the side of the bench. “There is this part of myself that I hate because it is _you_. I don’t know how Hermione can look past that and love the rest of me.”

Draco looked up at his father, who did not appear even the slightest bit offended. He just stood there, hands on his hips, patiently waiting for his son to continue his screed.

“Could you at least pretend to care?”

“No," Lucius said, almost bored. "The way you see yourself is your business. You are my only son and I love you, but I will not pretend to understand what happens in your mind. I gave that up twenty years ago.”

“Oh,” Draco said. That was unexpected, but not entirely a surprise.

“But by all means, go on.”

“I hate being drawn to power like a moth to flame,” Draco said. “I get that from you, but Hermione is the most powerful wizard in the world and I cannot seem to pull away. There are moments when I question whether I love her power or if I love _her._ But then, I know the answer. I know that her power is part of what makes her who she is. Her intellect, her ambition, even how rigid she is in her beliefs ... I love it all. She loves me because she sees me for who I am, not who you tried to make me. So I do not want you to approve of Hermione because of soulmate magic, father. I want you to say it is okay for me to love Hermione just because I love her.”

Lucius Malfoy nodded and said, “Okay.”

“Sorry?”

“Draco, I had to propose to your mother three times before she said yes. It did not matter that my name was on her arm because I was not the person she wanted. It is your responsibility to become the person your soulmate needs. You can argue I failed repeatedly in that regard, and I would be inclined to agree. However, I will always try because I love your mother more than anyone. When you were seventeen years old, neither you nor the Granger girl was at a place where you knew what you wanted. If you are there now and you are sure of yourselves, then I have no reason to stand in your way.” Lucius made a face and admitted, “That, and Narcissa and I are getting older. She expects grandchildren, you know. Merlin can only imagine the hair your kids will have, coming from the two of you.”

Wait, his father was thinking about his marriage? Children? Family?

Draco said, “I, um, thought this would be a bit more difficult.”

“I do not need to like the relationship,” his father said. “Your mother will have my balls in a jar if I stand between you and your soulmate.”

“Huh,” Draco said. “I honestly thought you would take a few hours of convincing.”

Another eye roll from Lucius who asked, “Did you have a purpose with this little chat, or was this more therapy for you?”

Draco took a deep breath and said, “I want the ring.”

**Saturday Afternoon**

He thought it would be alright returning to the Marjoribanks Gardens, but all he could do was sit on a bench and watch everyone cross the footbridge while thinking back to every time he ran over it. He thought nothing of it back then, putting one foot in front of the other. It was not something he ever thought could be taken away.

Draco listened to the gentle hum of the creek until Astoria arrived. She sat next to him and bumped their knees together. Astoria smiled up at Draco and he felt so good seeing her like this, green eyes lit up with a secret she was bursting to tell. Knowing that she was truly happy, that she had a family to be proud of lifted his spirits—even if she was with Weasley.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” Astoria half-shouted back. She shook with anticipation, and before Draco could ask why, the words tumbled from her mouth. “Theo said you finally shagged Hermione! Tell me everything!”

Draco laughed.

“Please,” she begged. She wrapped one arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’ll make you some of those scones and even that jam you like.”

Draco groaned and admitted, “That sounds wonderful. Hermione and I are both rubbish in the kitchen.”

“Details, Draco,” she prodded. “Friends give friends details.”

He laughed again and reminded her, “Exes not so much.”

“Fine, I will assume it was bad.”

“You know me well enough to know it was not bad,” Draco said. “I thought it might be, though, since I do not have the strength to do ...” He trailed off for a moment and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I do not have the strength to do everything I would like to.”

“Did she take the lead?” Astoria asked.

Draco did not answer and felt his cheeks warm up a bit.

“Oh my God!” she squeaked. “Draco, you’re blushing! She did! Oh, I knew she was a great fit for you. Knowing the both of you I bet you talked the whole way through, didn’t you?”

“This conversation is seven different types of uncomfortable,” Draco said with a sigh.

“Tell me more,” Astoria pleaded. “You haven’t had a real girlfriend since me and I am dying to know how she is different. How you are different with her.”

“Hermione is not gentle,” he said. “Not rough, really, but she takes what she wants. She made me feel like I could never get enough of it, of having her in my arms, watching her come completely undone. She gave me the power to do that and I do not think you ever did.”

Astoria agreed.

“There was always something more you wanted from me, but I never figured out what it was. I think you could say the same of me. But we were so young, and—”

Draco stopped listening because the charade fell apart. They were not all that young; it had been six years they spent together, not two. In his world, Draco never watched her love someone else. It had only ever been him and he only ever had her.

“Why aren’t you ecstatic about this?” Astoria asked, pulling Draco away from his thoughts. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

He shook his head.

“I just don’t know why I am still so afraid to tell her I love her.”

“Probably because the last person you said it to was me,” Astoria guessed.

“Probably,” Draco agreed.

“Look, I know it must be hard to trust someone like this, but Hermione Granger has decided to put her faith you. Don’t you owe it to her to tell her how you feel?”

“What if she is lying to me?” Draco asked. “What if she only thinks she is in love with me and we fall apart as time goes on?”

“Stop sabotaging yourself!” Astoria shouted. A few passers-by turned to look but she continued full-speed ahead. “You and Hermione are in love. You chose each other as soulmates, Draco. She chose you. Do you think there is any way she underestimated her commitment?”

“No.”

“Then this all falls back to you,” she said. “This is all about what you don’t believe you deserve to have. You deserve to be happy and so does Hermione. Do not take that away from her because you are scared!”

Draco nodded and said, “You are right. I thought it was my father who was standing between me and Hermione. I thought I needed his approval, but he gave it to me.” He clenched his jaw and pulled the ring box from the pocket of his robes. He flipped it open and Astoria’s eyes widened as she took it in.

She tugged at his sleeve and whisper-yelled, “Oh my GOD!”

“I know.”

“You haven’t even told her you love her and you want to PROPOSE?!”

“I know.”

“Must have been one hell of a shag.”

Draco laughed and said, “It was.”

“So what do you plan to say? ‘Hermione I love you and want you to marry me?’”

“Not exactly.”

Astoria beamed and asked, “But you have been thinking about it?”

Draco nodded.

“Yes! Alright, give it a go.”

“I dunno, Astoria, I feel like this is private.”

“Please.”

Draco tossed the ring box lightly in his palm and said, “No, I want to keep this moment for Hermione alone. But my father removed himself as an obstacle and I still cannot bring myself to tell her I love her. You are right that I am holding myself back and I do not quite understand why.”

“I do,” Astoria said.

“Trying to read my mind, are you?”

“You know I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she countered. “But I think that you are afraid to give Hermione the satisfaction. The one thing you have over her right now is that she said the words first. If you hold out, you have power. You can change your mind. The second you say those words to her, though, that balance is lost and you have no leverage. The only reason not to say it is because you don’t trust her.”

Draco insisted, “But I do!”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

He couldn’t answer. Draco looked back toward the bridge and asked,

“How is your mother?”

“Dreadful, really,” Astoria replied. She grimaced and said, “She forgets dad’s name. It is right there on her arm and she can’t remember. Most times she just guesses and assumes she is right because none of us correct her. The best parts of her are still here with us, but so much isn’t, Draco, and I don’t know what to do once that starts disappearing, too.”

“I remember when my grandfather had Ague, the fatigue was the worst of it. He was always either sleeping or coughing with little time between.”

“The Calming Draught she took is what causes the memory lapses. She is losing herself from the inside out and I don’t know how to watch.”

“I didn’t,” Draco revealed. He placed the ring back in his pocket and said, “My parents sent me on holiday to France when things ...” He trailed off. “A week later I was back for the funeral.”

“Well I will handle it,” Astoria insisted, and Draco knew it to be the truth. “But my father ... The past few months he’s been losing parts of himself, too. The parts that made him better, you know, because my mum deserved better.”

“All he needs to do is look at you because the best parts of your mum will live on through you.”

Astoria playfully swatted Draco’s shoulder and said, “Stop with the flattery, you smooth bastard.”

“Not flattery,” Draco insisted.

Astoria took his hand in both of hers and sighed. She didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there rubbing tiny circles into his palm with one thumb.

“You know I’ll always love you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. God, his heart hurt having Astoria so close, knowing it wasn’t truly her. “I know.”

**Saturday Night**

The ring was in the nightstand. Right there, next to him, all he had to do was reach over and ...

“I can feel you thinking,” Hermione grumbled.

Draco laughed and pressed a delicate kiss to her shoulder. Falling asleep with Hermione was nice, her back to his front and their legs twined together. Granted, they always seemed to wake up on opposite sides of the bed, but Draco would get used to this part rather quickly.

“Just anxious for Monday.”

Hermione yawned and tried to convince him, “It will work out.”

“I know. I trust you.”

She hummed contentedly and snuggled backward into Draco’s chest. He tightened his hold around her waist. She lent voice to Draco’s thoughts,

“We should end every day like this.”

“I agree, though maybe I should be little spoon so I don’t end up with your hair in my mouth,” he teased.

“Don’t lie, you love being the big spoon.”

“No, Hermione," the words were out of his mouth before he could think them through. "I love _you_.”


	25. Put a Ring On It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most interesting elevator ride you've ever read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on July 17th, 2006.

Draco thought about saying fuck the Wizengamot, dropping to a knee, and asking Hermione to marry him. It took up the whole of Sunday but he just couldn’t do it. There needed to be a moment that meant something.

Hermione was not in bed when Draco woke up on Monday morning. Without opening his eyes, he used one hand to feel the other side of the bed and cracked one eye when he didn’t feel Hermione there. He groaned, flipped over, and slept for another half hour.

He woke up when a pillow hit the back of his head.

“OI!”

“I need your help,” Hermione said. She held up two robes and asked, “Which one says, ‘Agree with me!’”

Draco blinked and squinted at the options presented. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and pressed against his eyes with the heels of his hands. He spoke through a yawn to say,

“I think you should show up at her office starkers.”

Hermione threw another pillow at him.

“What?” he asked, grinning. “It would get me to agree with you.”

“You are hopeless,” Hermione teased.

“In many, many ways, but it does not matter what you wear. Susan will kick us out the minute we show up. Either that or lecture us out the door.”

“No, I have a whole outline of our case!” She paused, then amended, “Padma’s case. Because I cannot, you know, actually present a case ...”

“Because Susan took your license away,” Draco finished for her. 

Hermione tossed the robes onto the bed and fell backward on top of them. Draco was impressed she had kept it together this long. She closed her eyes and said,

“Fuck it all, Draco. I think we just go in there and beg. Grovel. Say that your family was stolen from you but it does not give you license to take that privilege from other people.”

“Malfoys do not beg.”

“Then you can stand there and watch while I do the grovelling.”

Draco rolled his eyes and asked, “What, exactly, is the point of today?”

“I wanted to meet with Susan to get her to reconsider bringing the bill before the Wizengamot. The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t have any leverage. We have nothing, Draco. She is holding our lives in her hands and I don’t believe there is any way to convince her.”

Draco took Hermione’s hand in his own.

“I disagree.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, because I know Susan Bones.”

“You know _your_ Susan Bones,” Hermione countered. “This one is different.”

“But she is not different at her core, is she? My double here might not have been godfather to the twins and he was on drugs far longer than me, but he still founded CODE. He still did all the important stuff I was meant to do. Your double may have been hung up on Weasley, but she was still trying to find love somewhere. You still ran a law firm, Romilda was still writing, and Pans still tattoos people for a living. Something, some part of Susan Bones is still there.”

“Well good bloody luck finding it. I don’t know what to do,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what to say or how to say it or how to make any of this right. You are going to have to pull Susan Bones out of this because I don’t know how.”

No pressure.

**.oOo.**

Draco and Hermione stepped onto the Ministry lift alone since everyone in the atrium was still a bit stunned after seeing them together. They arrived twenty minutes early, allowing plenty of time for Draco to get from the fireplaces in the atrium, across the hall to the lifts. No sooner had they stepped out of the Floo than every eye was trained on them.

“You know I am going to trip because they are all looking.”

Hermione offered her hand and said, “I won’t let you fall, babe.”

So they moved forward together as Draco’s walking stick clacked loudly against the floor. The witch serving food at Ministry Munchies had completely abandoned her post to stare at them. He had worn one of his finer blue robes, but his thoughts constantly fell to the ring box in his pocket. It went everywhere with him because he was terrified Hermione would somehow find it. He dropped Hermione’s hand in the lift and pressed the button for level two. Neither of them said anything for a moment until Hermione asked,

“What if we never get to go home?”

“We will find a way,” Draco insisted. “Like you said, the curse is meant to push us toward the people we are meant to love and we found that.”

The doors to the lift closed and they continued their ascent toward level two.

“No, Draco, the curse isn’t about pushing us toward love, it is about pulling us away from it. You read the journal; it took two weeks for your grandfather and bloody Queen Elizabeth to give it up. Maybe this is my fault,” she realized. “Maybe I’m still so hung up on Ron that we are stuck here.”

“That is not true, Hermione.” He was interrupted by the lift chime as the doors opened on level seven. Two people filed in and stood in the opposite corner, whispering to each other, subtlety be damned. Draco lowered his voice to a whisper.

“This is not a Granger family curse, love. This is a Malfoy problem, and it is on me.”

If one of them was hung up on lost love, it sure as hell wasn’t Hermione. 

“We have said the whole time that we are a team,” Hermione whispered back. “We will get through this together.”

Draco gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “I go as you go, love.” 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal level six. Their two compatriots in the far corner scurried out, probably to tell the rest of the floor about the unbelievable coupling in the lift. Hermione turned to face Draco as the doors closed.

“The more I think about it, I believe we may be stuck here far longer than we expected. It only took your grandfather two weeks, and we have been here for six!”

“Well we have been through a bit more than my father’s namesake ever went through,” Draco countered.

“There is something we are not seeing. Some piece of the puzzle that we keep missing.” Hermione paused for a moment then asked, “Do you remember weeks ago when I said I had a surprise for you?”

“Vaguely.”

“Right,” she said, suddenly a bit flustered. “Well, this was not exactly how I planned to do it. I thought there would be a good moment, in bed, maybe ... My point is, if we are going to be here for Merlin only knows how long, then I want to be here with you.” 

The elevator dinged, signalling floor five, but the lift went right by. 

Hermione continued, “I am so happy that I am stuck here with you because you are the only person who could have kept me sane. I fell in love with you because you are strong in ways I could never hope to be. You play the political games so I don’t have to, and you make me laugh, which is nice. I feel good around you and, strange as it may be to say, I feel safe with you, too.”

“That is very sweet to say,” Draco said. He felt himself blush at her words. 

“Right, well, if we are stuck here then I want you to be more than my soulmate.” She rummaged through her pockets for a moment before pulling out a simple gold wedding band and taking a knee.

All Draco managed to say was a slightly garbled, “What the fuck ... ?”

“If we are going to be here together, then let’s be here _together_ ,” Hermione said. “I go as you go, babe. We are a team, literally the two of us against the universe. So ... Marry me?”

There was another ding and the doors opened to reveal at least six people waiting to get on the lift. Draco and Hermione looked over at their small audience, who were staring back with their jaws halfway to the floor. For a few seconds, it was as though they had all been jinxed with a Body-Bind. Draco regained his senses first and slammed the DOOR CLOSE button.

“Sorry mates, lift’s taken.” The doors closed and he returned his attention to Hermione. “What the actual fuck is happening right now?”

“I’m proposing to you,” she said, gesturing at her place on the floor of the lift. “Thought it was fairly obvious, me being down on a knee asking you to marry me.”

“You were waiting for the right moment?” Draco asked. He pulled the ring box from his pocket and opened it to reveal the ruby ring inside. “I can say the same.”

Hermione stood up to get a closer look. She smiled down at the ring, nestled inside its nondescript black box. It was a three-carat ruby surrounded by a diamond halo. 

“This is not the ring I planned to give Astoria when we were together,” Draco revealed. “Thought that would be a bit prosaic. I chose this one because my fifth-great grandfather used this ring to propose to Gondoline Oliphant. I believe she responded with, ‘I prefer to study trolls, not marry them.’”

Hermione snorted with laughter as the elevator dinged, signaling floor three. The lift doors opened and standing there with his nose in a stack of parchment, dodging rogue memos was Ronald fucking Weasley. He looked up to see Draco offering an engagement ring to Hermione, shook his head, then looked back again. Weasley nodded then said,

“I’ll catch the next lift. Got to go vomit now.”

It was Draco’s turn to laugh as the doors closed again. 

“I wanted to ask you next week. I had a whole party planned, was going to invite all our friends, and your friends. But I chose this ring because there is a statue of Gondoline on the fourth floor at Hogwarts. It leads to a secret passage I discovered during sixth year when my life went to shit. It was the one place where I knew no one would find me, when I knew I could have a few moments’ peace. But with you, Hermione, I don’t need to escape.”

“Oh, damn, that was really good.”

“I know.” Draco chuckled and Hermione rolled her eyes. “I gave it some thought. But my answer is yes, Hermione. I will marry you on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Next time, when we get back home and this is real, I get to do the proposing.”

“Yeah?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah.”

They handed each other the rings and put them on, staring at them for a moment before the doors opened on level two. Rowan Khanna stood on the other side and Draco watched the colour slowly drain from his face. Hermione walked toward him and Rowan stutter-stepped backward, putting his hands up to signal he meant no harm. Hermione, on the other hand, had tiny red sparks spiraling down her curls. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

Rowan frowned and said, “I work here. What the hell are you doing at the Wizengamot Administrative Offices?”

“I am trying to undo all the damage you and your committee have done,” Hermione spat.

“I was only one vote!” Rowan insisted. “I had no choice, and I was only one vote!”

“We lost by one vote, Rowan,” Hermione said. She brushed past him, bumping their shoulders together on her way to Susan’s office. 

Rowan sped past Draco and fled into the lift before Hermione could turn back around. But in her anger, Hermione had missed one very important detail. When Rowan’s robes fell down his arm to pool in the crook of his elbow, Draco noticed his nameless left forearm.

Rowan Khanna didn’t have a soulmate. How did a man without a soulmate not only get to live a life outside the Shadows, but end up on the Wizengamot? 

“Draco!” Hermione shouted from down the hall. “Are you coming?”

Pulled from his thoughts, he hobbled down the hall as quickly as he could. Once the anger left Hermione, she looked terrified. Before they entered the reception area, Draco took her hand and asked,

“Do you trust me?”

Hermione nodded. Draco kissed her cheek then she opened the door for him, completely silent. A rarity for Hermione that made Draco more than a little uncomfortable. He never knew Hermione to get nervous. He strode up to the receptionist and said, 

“Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger here to see the Chief Sorceress.”

“Yes,” the receptionist said, snatching a memo from overhead. “She is ready to see you now. Word of advice, she hates Mondays so make it brief.”

Draco felt Hermione tense up and focus. The dangerous sort of concentration where she blocked out everything but the goal.

“Yes, right then, slight change of plan.”

He walked as fast as he had since he’d been cursed, desperate to get into Susan’s office before Hermione. His cane clacked against the tile floor, signalling his approach to Susan Bones. The door to her office swung open and he practically launched himself inside. 

Her office was nice. She had a large desk with stacks of parchment organized on top. Her floor-to-ceiling “windows” appeared to overlook the London skyline, though they were two stories underground. The room did a good job of portraying the sheer magnitude of her job, but it was still far less of a legacy than the one Draco went home to. Susan looked looked very little like the woman Draco remembered. She still wore her blonde hair in a plait down her back and touched her left leg occasionally to make sure it was still there. One nasty Splinching was enough trauma for a lifetime, but they’d been through so much worse. There was a sadness in her eyes, though, that Draco hadn’t noticed before.

“You may sit down,” Susan said, gesturing to the two seats in front of her desk. 

Hermione arrived and moved to take a seat, but Draco placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No, thank you, we will not be staying long.”

“Oh?”

“Oh?” Hermione repeated. 

“Hermione and I are not here to argue with you,” Draco improvised, “we want to invite you to our engagement party."

“The two of you are engaged?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise off her face. 

“Very newly so!” Draco said, turning to Hermione who did not seem to find the joke nearly as funny. He turned back to Susan and said, “Before you introduce this bill to the Wizengamot, I think it is important you at least see what you will be tearing apart.” Draco grabbed a piece of parchment from her desk and flipped it over to reveal a blank side. He snatched a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote down the information.

Susan glanced down at it, then at their rings, and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“That is fine, it will be a hell of a party with or without you present,” Draco said. He tossed the quill down and looked at Susan, anger etched across her features. His heart ached for her.

“I will compromise,” she said. “I will agree to not dissolve any marriages.”

So she was amenable. Draco’s confidence rose because there was a hint of the Susan he once knew.

“Not good enough,” Draco insisted. “A compromise is not good enough for us, Susan. I know losing Zacharias must have been painful—”

“My life is empty and pointless without him in it,” Susan replied. “It is like living in a world without sunlight; all I have to see by is fire. All I have are anger, hatred, and things I can control.”

“And you feel it is acceptable to force your pain onto other people?” Draco asked.

Susan Bones didn’t answer and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Look at me and Hermione then tell us we do not deserve to be happy,” Draco insisted. “Look at me in the eyes and say what you are doing is fair.” She did not look up and Draco slammed his hand on her desk so hard it made her jump. “Tell me you are doing the right thing!”

“I’m not!” Susan shouted back. She put a hand over her mouth and sank further into her chair, realizing her mistake. Now they had leverage.

Hermione took a step back toward the door and Draco had nearly forgotten she was there at all. This was a bout between old friends.

Susan tugged at the collar of her robe and admitted, “It may not be right, but this makes me feel better.”

“Why?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then come to our celebration,” he begged. “Come see us and our friends. I once counted you among them.” 

“And where were you during the funeral, Draco?” Susan pressed. “Where were you after Zacharias’s death?”

“Getting high, probably,” he admitted. “Dealing with my own pain. I was in no place to comfort you and I am sorry for that. I was a shit friend, but where were you during my trial, Susan?”

“Not getting high.”

“I turned to drugs because I had no one else back then,” Draco said. “I could blame you for your absence. I could blame Theo or Blaise or my parents or any number of people, but I don’t.”

“Then who do you blame?” Susan asked.

“Who do _you_ blame?” Draco countered. “How many lives ruined and loves lost will it take for you to reach the point of justice? I want you to come to my engagement party and point out each one of my friends who does not deserve to be loved. I want you to pick each one of them out of the crowd and say, ‘This person does not deserve happiness.’ You want to know who I blame, Susan? I blame myself and my own weakness."

“Are you calling me weak, Malfoy?” 

“Only if that is what you choose to be. I will not look back on the past because it does no good, Susan. All I can do is fight for what I know to be right, and I would guess that is exactly what Zacharias would want you to do.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” Susan insisted.

“But I know you,” Draco countered, “and your heart is not this cold.”


	26. My Fiancée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #RomiGetsASoulmate2K19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place entirely on July 19th, 2006.
> 
> TW: References to prostitution.  
> TW: References to prior drug use.  
> TW: Coarse language.

It didn’t really hit Draco until dinner on Tuesday.

He looked at Hermione across the table and said, “Oh my God, you’re my fiancée!”

**.oOo.**

Draco couldn’t work up the nerve to tell his parents until Wednesday. He sat at the dining room table and practiced Summoning forks from the opposite end. Just like Hermione taught him, Draco slowly pressed his magic toward his fingertips and ... _Accio_.

The first fork flew across the table right into his palm, tines first. Draco winced, dropped it, then tried again. _Accio._ The next fork flew across the table into his palm and he caught it by the stem. Wordless, wandless, and almost effortless. _Accio._  Draco added the third fork to his pile. 

“Spoons would have been a better choice, my son.”

Draco jumped when he heard his father’s voice behind him. Lucius Malfoy walked to the other end of the table and Draco stood up, twirling one fork between his fingers. 

“It would have made more sense to use something with a rounded edge to practice Summoning, but you always manage to make things more difficult than they need to be.”

Draco gripped the top of the chair, holding in each insult on the tip of his tongue. As though his father hadn’t actively made the ages of twelve to nineteen a living hell. As though his father hadn’t invited the vilest wizard of the past century to live in their house. Then landed himself in prison, leaving Narcissa alone and allowing Draco to be Marked at sixteen. Lucius Malfoy always seemed to forget that much.

Narcissa strode into the dining room a few moments later and kissed Lucius on the cheek. It was too early in the morning for Draco, most days. His mother still had her hair down and it was damp on the ends. She was still in her morning robe and Draco wondered what time it was. Hermione had been sound asleep when he left, and he hadn’t bothered to check the hour because he was seconds away from losing his willpower. It was a now-or-never sort of proposition. His mother glanced at the pile of forks then over to Draco. Her eyes went wide and she asked,

“What is that?”

Confused, Draco held up the cutlery and said, “A fork?”

Narcissa smiled and pointed to her wedding ring. Draco glanced down at his left hand and said,

“Oh.”

His father sighed heavily and admitted, “When you asked for an engagement ring, I had a feeling this was coming.” 

Draco shrugged and asked, “Could you just say, ‘Congratulations!’ or something? This is why it has taken me days to do this. Could you, this once, pretend to be happy for me?”

“Oh, my son,” Narcissa said. She pulled Draco into a tight hug. “I am far more at peace now that you found someone who makes you happy.”

Draco patted her on the back and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” she insisted, refusing to let go. “You are my son and I always want you to be happy. We put you through hell and you still go through so much; the only thing I ever wanted was for you to find someone that does not make life feel like such a fight.”

She pulled back and Draco saw tears in her eyes. Happy tears, and she was smiling brighter than Draco had seen in years.

“Would you like to know the funniest bit?” he asked.

“Do tell,” Narcissa said.

“Hermione proposed.”

Draco’s father laughed; a guffaw that had him doubled-over in hysterics. Draco nodded, because of course that would be the part his father enjoyed. The part where he failed.

“You ... You waited too long!” Lucius said between breaths. His shoulders shook with laughter. “Y-you had the r-ring!”

“Yes, father,” Draco agreed. “I had the ring and I planned to do it when we had a good moment. We were on the lift at the Ministry and she said all these nice things about me. Should have been a clue right there because most of the time she just talks about books or insults my hair. But she said she wanted to be with me for as long as she can be, and since I cannot exactly get down on one knee, she did it for me.”

Lucius Malfoy wiped his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Good God, Draco, you do not deserve this girl.”

He mumbled, “Don’t I fucking know it.”

“Oh, nevermind that,” Narcissa insisted. “Now, when are we having a celebration?”

“Sunday.”

**.oOo.**

Draco scheduled an appointment with Romilda at the manor that afternoon. Hermione owled him to say she was holed up in her library with Lucius I’s journal. They were nearing two months in this cursed dimension, after all. 

“I know why we are still stuck here,” he said.

Romilda rested her chin on one hand and asked, “Why?”

“The curse is meant to pull Malfoys away from the wrong people and push them toward the right one. I think I found the right one, but I have not moved on from Astoria. Not entirely.”

“Why not?”

Draco shrugged. Romilda tapped her fingernails on his desk, unwilling to answer for him. Three weeks away from the Wiggentree had done her a lot of good. She looked fantastic in a black blouse that, by Romilda’s standards, belonged in a convent, and her skirt fell to the bottom of her knees. It must have been the way she wanted to dress but hadn’t been able to. The newsletter was receiving rave reviews and everyone in the office loved her. It was never a pity hire; she was the perfect person for the job.

“Astoria and I were together off-and-on for six years. How am I supposed move on from that?”

Romilda said, “Tell me about the off.”

“We always had problems,” Draco replied. “Every relationship has problems.”

“In my former line of work, you learn fairly quickly there are two types of problems: the ones you can work through and the ones you can’t. I was an answer for the unfixable sort. Was her biggest problem with the drugs?”

“Mostly,” Draco agreed. “But even during the weeks I was sober she wanted a life like my parents’. She wanted to be focused on our lives at home, but I love my job. I want to have a family, of course, but there is so much in this world to fix that I cannot sit back and watch as it crumbles. I cannot watch my friends’ lives suffer.”

“It sounds like the two of you never had the same plan for your future together. Did you know you wanted something different from Astoria’s vision of your lives together?”

“Well—”

“And you tried to stay with her anyway?”

“Because I love her!” Draco insisted. He balled his hands into fists and said, “I thought we could make it work.”

“If you knew Astoria would have to change what she wanted to be together, what does that say about you?” Romilda asked. “Fairly certain that makes you the jerk in this scenario.”

Draco let his head fall onto his desk. He groaned and realized Romi was right. He had dragged things out with Astoria far longer than they needed to go. 

“You don’t regret it, though, do you?” she asked.

Draco shook his head.

“That’s why you are stuck here,” Romilda said. “You still care more about yourself and your love for Astoria than you do her needs or Hermione’s. You are so desperate to be loved that you can’t let it go.”

“I can let it go,” he insisted.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Draco didn’t have an answer. He nodded to the stack of parchment Romilda brought with her. She obliged the change of subject and they went over the week’s newsletter, but Draco quickly lost interest.

“What do you know about Rowan Khanna?”

Romilda looked up at Draco and blinked. She blinked again.

“He was never a client, which is more than I can say for many of the members on the Wizengamot. He does not do any work in the Shadows.”

“No?” Draco asked.

“I am certain,” Romi confirmed.

“Right ...” Draco trailed off as his thoughts refused to form a cohesive picture. “ _How_ did they curse me? How the hell could that have happened on manor grounds?”

“At the party?”

“I was coming out of the manor. No one at the party noticed anyone go missing except me, Blaise, Bastien, and Theo.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t someone at the party,” Romi suggested. She placed the draft newsletter to the side of Draco’s desk and grabbed another loose sheet of parchment. She ripped it into tiny pieces.

“Who could escape unnoticed like that? The pieces are right here in front of me, Romi, but I cannot put them together properly.”

“You need to take a step away, then. Hermione was the target until you came out as a couple, so this person obviously dislikes CODE.”

“But they would have to be a member to be at the party,” Draco countered.

“Then someone either hates you enough to work against their interests or their marriage is ending.”

“No one is getting divorced in a world of soul bonds.”

“Well we know Susan Bones is involved,” Romilda said. She had shredded nearly half the parchment and placed the pieces into a small pile. “Someone wealthy enough to have the ear of the Chief Sorceress, someone who hates you, and someone with a marriage reaching its end.”

“Astoria’s father fits that profile,” Draco said, “but he was nowhere near me when I was cursed.”

“Then you are missing the obvious,” Romilda said. She separated the pile of scraps into two smaller piles. Then she grabbed half of the right pile and half of the left to form a third pile.

“An intermediary?” Draco asked. “You think there is a third partner in this?”

“There must be.”

“I don’t know of anyone who ... knows both Susan and ...” Draco pressed a fist against his forehead. “God, the answer has been walking right by me the entire time.”

Romilda insisted, “I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better.”

Before Draco could reply, there was a knock on his study door. Slay Knighten came through and said,

“Hi, Malfoy! Your little elf said you would be in here. I know I am a bit early, but my son’s football lesson ends early today, so I was hoping—Oh!”

Slay’s jaw dropped the moment he caught sight of Romilda Vane. It was funny to see Slay Knighten, always so composed and self-assured, completely self-destruct.

“I ... I, uh, didn’t realize you had lovely company—no, shit, I meant company. Company, just company.” Knighten snapped his mouth shut and Romilda smiled over at him. His face was bright red. He took a deep breath and refocused his attention on Draco. Knighten held up a copy of the most recent newsletter and asked, “Who is this Romilda Vane you hired to do the papers? The whole group is mad for this new format. The whole column dedicated to Muggle-related news? We love it.”

Draco glanced over to see Romi’s cheeks had gone pink as well. 

“You think she is a good writer?” Draco asked, feigning nonchalance. 

Slay nodded so hard his head might pop off. He rambled for a minute about the improvements to the newsletter as Romilda surveyed him from tip to toe. It wasn’t Slay’s best day. His blond curls were a little limp and his t-shirt that was a half-size too small. Draco watched as Romilda’s eyes lingered on his shoulders, then moved down to his waist ... 

“And she chose good subjects, nothing dull. It used to be like you were trying to fill column space, but this Romilda person writes like she can never quite tell you enough.”

“Right, well,” Draco grabbed his walking stick and stood up. “Knighten, this is my new staff writer, Romilda Vane.”

She stood as well and offered her hand. All the colour drained from Slay’s face. 

“Romi, this is Slay Knighten, my physical therapist.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Knighten.”

“Doctor, actually,” Slay said, regaining his senses. He shook her hand and said, “Doctor Knighten. And you ... You are Romilda Vane?”

“The one and only,” she quipped.

He dropped his grip and asked, “Where did you write before Draco stole you away?”

Romilda shrugged and revealed without preamble that, “Until about three weeks ago I was a prostitute.”

“Oh.” Knighten crossed his arms and stared at the floor while he processed that information. He looked up at her, a little hesitant, and asked, “How are you coping with that transition?”

“As well as can be expected,” Romilda said, unconvincingly. “Powerful people think they are entitled to things they have no claim over, and I am not sure that will ever change. But I was always waiting for a way out. I knew an opportunity would come, and I only had to survive until it found me. Draco offered me this job and now I can breathe again.”

“Who knew Malfoy was good for something other than being a pain in the ass?” Knighten joked. “But I know exactly what you’re saying. Everything kept going wrong for you, right?"

"Yes," Romilda said.

"All the wrongs kept piling up and nothing went right until you had no choice to accept that as your life?"

"Exactly."

"Unfortunately, I have been there. You are right, though, that it gets better the moment you find a friend." Knighten awkwardly cleared his throat and said, "We should get started soon, Draco. Unless you’d rather continue with Miss Vane, here. Or Mrs. Vane? Is there a Mr. Vane?”

“No.”

“Oh?” Slay perked right up. There was a lot of hope in his eyes when he asked, “So you’re single?”

“Very,” Draco interjected. “She is very single.”

Romilda grabbed one of the piles of parchment scraps and threw it at him. She grabbed the half parchment she hadn’t shredded and wrote a series of numbers on it. She folded it in half and handed Knighten the parchment as she walked toward the door.

“Phone me!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The door shut behind her seconds later, but Slay hadn’t moved. The parchment was still pressed between his fingers. 

“What torture have you planned for me today?” Draco asked. Therapy was hell, as it always was, but he caught Knighten checking on the parchment more than once. Before he left, Draco remembered to tell him about the engagement.

“You finally found the bollocks to ask her?”

“Actually,” Draco admitted, “she asked me.”

Knighten laughed.

“Bloody hell, you surround yourself with the most amazing women.”

“You will like Romi. She needs a good person in her life to show her she is worthy of being loved the way everyone else is.”

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” Knighten admitted. “She seems wicked smart, too. I, um, I worry what she’ll think about going out with a single father. I can’t bring anyone into my life that isn’t good for my son.”

“I cannot speak to how she is around kids,” Draco said, “but I can say that she is the most honest person I have ever met. If she is uncomfortable, she will tell you. If she doesn’t like you, she will tell you. Romi’s got a good heart and she will show you if you give her the chance.”

Slay took a deep breath and said, “You are either the best or the worst friend I’ve ever made.”

“Ask anyone and they will tell you I am both.”

**.oOo.**

He was so relieved to be back in bed that evening. It had been far too long a day. Draco’s eyes fell shut and he hugged Hermione a little tighter.

“I hated being away from my fiancée all day.”

“I hardly noticed you were gone,” Hermione teased.

Draco ground his pelvis into Hermione’s backside.

“S’pose I need to remind you why you should miss me.”

“In the morning, babe.”

“As you wish, _fiancée_.”

Hermione laughed and asked, “Do you plan to call me that all the time?”

“No,” Draco replied. “One day back home, hopefully I will get to call you my wife. Fiancée will do until then.”

“Do you mean it?” she asked. “You’d marry me?”

“As soon as you will let me.”

“You are such a sap,” Hermione whispered, “but I like it.”

“You will like it even more in the morning.”

Hermione yawned and said, “I look forward to it, _fiancé_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I add a whole chapter simply to get Romilda a happy ending? Yes. Yes, I did. 
> 
> ALSO!! KarmaDash made [some sketches of Hermione's tattoos](https://sta.sh/21k935emiemg) thus far. Since I don't specify Hermione's race in the story, it's available in a few different skin colours so hopefully you can find your Hermione included. Thank you so much, this is so wonderful.


	27. The Ol' Switcheroo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets hurt, Lucius Malfoy has one good moment of parenting in his life, and Pansy Parkinson puts things in perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on July 20th - 22nd, 2006.

Draco woke up when Hermione rolled on top of him.

She mumbled, “We’re home!” as Draco pried his eyes open. He flung his arm over his eyes and squinted against the morning light. Of course they were home. His left side stung from therapy the day before and he had planned to sleep in, but he had also promised Hermione a good shag that morning. She smiled at him and moved to play with his hair, but her fingers paused halfway there and she stared at the engagement ring.

“What the ...?” She looked over to Draco, then at his arm, and finally the ring on his left hand. “Oh my GOD!”

He had the same reaction on Tuesday evening, but this was different. Hermione glared at the ring like it might be cursed. 

Confused, Draco asked, “Is something wrong?”

Hermione glimpsed her name on his arm again, and screamed, “WHO ARE YOU?!”

Before Draco could even think about an answer, she kicked him right in the abdomen and forced him over the side of the bed. He recognized about a half-second before he hit the floor that it was gonna hurt like hell. Draco landed on his left side and would have cried out in pain when his chest slammed into the wood floor, but it felt like there was no air left in his chest. He felt his diaphragm spasm and he clawed at the floor, trying to flip himself onto his back. He tried to say any number of things. _What the hell, Hermione?!_ And _You know how much this hurts!_ but no sound came out. Not that Hermione would have heard it since she was screaming at the top of her bloody lungs. 

“Who the hell are you and why is my name on your arm?!” 

“ _I—I—ah ...”_

Draco couldn’t get any words out. He finally used his elbow to roll himself onto his back. Hermione stood over him in her knickers and t-shirt, wand raised. She held up her left hand and asked,

“What is THIS?!”

Draco gasped as he finally got some air into his lungs. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed slowly, methodically until his diaphragm stopped trying to leap up his throat. He propped himself up the slightest bit on his elbows and surveyed Hermione. She looked the same as she had when they went to sleep the night before. His heart broke cleanly down the middle when he saw Hermione’s left arm was completely bare. No pansies were peeking out from beneath her shirtsleeve, no Sword of Gryffindor on her arm, and his name was nowhere to be found. It was blank; as though their entire time together had been erased. 

Hermione surveyed the room like she had never seen it before, and Draco put the pieces together. He took another shaky breath in and said, 

“You are not my Hermione.”

“You?” Hermione asked. “You are the Cursed!Draco?”

“In more ways than one, I’m afraid,” he replied, wincing at the pain in his side. Merlin, she couldn’t have picked a better way to incapacitate him. 

“So ... I am home,” Hermione pieced it together herself, “but you aren’t.”

“God!” Draco cried out in pain. The left part of his chest felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. He grasped for the bedskirt and tried to pull himself into a sitting position. It took a moment, but he finally sat up and leaned against the side of the bed. Hermione had not lowered her wand.

“What is wrong with you?”

“We don’t ...” Draco paused to breathe. “We do not have enough time for me to answer that question.”

Hermione got that look on her face, the determined expression Draco had grown fond of over the past seven weeks.

“Try.”

**.oOo.**

“Engaged?!” Hermione shouted. Draco had just finished telling her about the seven weeks she had been absent from her world. She pulled the bowl of fruit closer and popped a strawberry in her mouth. “I suppose I don’t hate the idea as much as I should.”

For what seemed like the seventeenth time in the past three days, Draco said, “Well, you asked me.”

She nodded and admitted, “That sounds like something I would do.”

Merlin’s fucking ass, it was weird. They had been speaking for two hours like it was a nerve-wracking job interview. He had to convince his fiancée they were in love ... again. Draco’s side still hurt and everything was just a little off, as though the entire world had tilted one degree to the left. He pressed the ice pack more firmly against his chest. Once it was established Draco had no intention of harming Hermione, she had handled him with as much care as she always had. Her tentative fingers lightly pressed against the newest scars on his chest as she mumbled a spell to soothe the pain. She looked like Hermione, smiled like Hermione, she _was_ Hermione but ... At the same time, she wasn’t.

“I suppose I should tell you what life is like in your world.”

“God, yes,” he mumbled. 

“The marriage ban died a week ago.”

Draco wished he could relax at the news, but he still hadn’t done his job. His double succeeded where Draco failed. Hell, at least his double could run.

“Your world is so ... _odd_ ,” Hermione said. She was starry-eyed as she recalled, “You are free; there is no hiding from love. There is no hiding who you want to love versus who magic tells you to love. We— _I—_ had never seen anything like it. I never thought of a world without soul bonds. I used to believe everyone was meant to be like Harry is with Ginny, so perfect and happy with who they are as a couple. I thought those of us without soulmates were meant to find a different kind of love. A lesser one, but still, we needed to fight for that much.”

“We are fighting for more,” Draco insisted. He winced and shifted his position in the dining chair. “We all deserve more.”

“I understand that now,” Hermione admitted. “Your world was amazing, the way you can choose things ...”

“The Ministry tried to take choice away, and we would never allow that to happen. Here it feels like we are pushing for too much. Susan agreed not to dissolve any marriages already in place, but that defeats the purpose. This ban is about the future and retribution for the past, so Hermione and I only knew one way to fight it.”

“Love,” she answered. “It’s not as stupid an idea as I originally believed.”

“Tell me more about my double.”

Hermione thought about it for a moment then said, “You cried a lot.”

Draco nodded. Not the rave review he was expecting, but not surprising

“The hardest part for both of us was when you finally worked up the courage to go to your father. I admit I thought you were being dramatic, but you overestimated how far he had come since the war. You did not tell me everything that happened. You spoke to him on your own and it was wise not bringing me along. Your father said such hurtful, hateful things.” Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think the phrase used was, ‘You can play in the mud, but you may not drag it inside the house.’”

Draco saw red.

“I’ll kill him.”

Hermione chuckled and said, “You said the same thing to me when it happened. I suppose you and my Draco are more alike than I gave you credit for. It does not surprise me that you moved forward to fight the marriage ban in the only way you knew how. In your world, you moved in and we fought this together. We _won_ together.”

“Because I go as you go,” Draco said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Hermione shrugged, “I suppose that’s it.”

And that hurt more than anything else this new Hermione had done. 

“You know,” she said, “I knew you adored Scarlett and Sebastien. It was one of the first things I learned about you all those months ago when I signed on at CODE. You were convinced you would never find a soulmate or anyone who could love you, so you considered those kids your own. But you were never quite enough to be a parent. You always relied on drugs more than you relied on the people around you—”

“They did a damn good job of failing me for about seven years.”

“That’s the thing! You— _my_ you—always blamed others even after he founded CODE. Even through all that, it was always someone else who pushed him down. But then there was you, and you didn’t care. You took the first step and _made yourself_ _better_. Everyone recognized that, saw what a struggle it was, and they responded.” Hermione’s grin widened as she recounted the next bit. “Imagine your surprise when Theo owled, asking when the twins would next see their godfather.”

Draco laughed. 

“I cried, didn’t I?”

“SOBBED!” Hermione laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes. “You always have something to say, a quick remark or an insult to throw. It is one of the things I love about you, but you read the letter and went really quiet. You started crying and I thought perhaps your mum had died or Sleekeazy’s had gone bankrupt. You couldn’t even tell me, you just tossed the letter at me and I read it myself.”

“The twins were the reason I pulled myself away from everything I’d thrown myself into. No one could ever be as important to me as they are. At least, that was what I believed until I landed here with you.”

She smiled softly and looked down at the table.

“You both know how to say the sweetest things.”

“It is easy because I mean them.”

“Just like that,” Hermione said. “You say the most romantic things without a hint of insecurity.”

Draco smiled at his own memory.

“You said the same thing to me, once. Not everything my father taught me was a waste.”

“He did come around, eventually,” Hermione said. “I think your mum threatened to hex him in rather important places. He came over to the house, _my house_ , and apologized. Later, he even met my parents!”

“I wish I had seen that.”

“He said the nicest things, just the way you do, but I believe he meant them, too.”

Draco frowned.

“I hardly believe it. I know my father well enough—“

“Do you?” Hermione asked. “Because I thought I knew my friends, and some things are different. But I also learned what is the same, what makes them who they are.”

“Perhaps, But I fucking hate this world,” he admitted. “Why am I still here?!”

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked. “I left you both the journal. You know what you have to do to switch back.”

“I must have missed that chapter; perhaps try underlining it next time.”

Hermione groaned and said, “Details, Draco. You always miss the details. The only reason this happened is that you hadn’t found the right person to love yet. I figured I would be included because we hadn’t exactly said it yet, but I knew I loved you. The curse doesn’t just pull people apart, it pushes the right ones together. I thought—I _hoped_ I was the right one.”

“You are.”

“Sweet of you to say, but it doesn’t seem like you are so certain.”

Draco nodded and stood up from his chair. He threw the ice pack down on the table and made for his old bedroom.

“I need to go do a thing.”

“Who is it?” Hermione asked. “Who has so much of your heart that you don’t want them to give back?”

Draco sighed and asked, “Does it matter?”

“It will to me.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Astoria Greengrass?” Hermione guessed. “She was angry when we showed up together, but she is not the sort to stay angry for long.” 

“No, she is not.”

“Why her?”

Draco shrugged and pretended not to have an answer. What the hell had she done to deserve one?

“You know why,” Hermione pressed. “You can’t lie to me, Draco, I don’t care which one of you I am speaking to. You cannot lie to me about this.”

“Six years,” Draco snapped. “We were together for six years! My entire life after the trial was spent with Astoria. What you and Romi and everyone else fail to understand is that before CODE, before the twins, I had nothing but her. She was willing to be there for me when even my parents were not. I never felt like I was worth anything until she said I was.”

“You cling to her because you are afraid if you let go of that love I won’t be able to give you as much!” Hermione half-screamed back. “You don’t think I can make you feel as important? You don’t believe I can love you that much?”

“I don’t know why you should.”

“What does that matter?!” she asked. “I know how much I love you, and it will not change no matter how long we are together, and regardless of where we are. A whole universe away and I refused let you go, but the only person _you_ can say that about is Astoria Greengrass.” Hermione stood up and pulled the engagement ring off her finger.

“I don’t care which universe you are in, I am worth more than that.”

**.oOo.**

They avoided each other the entirety of Thursday. Draco returned to his bedroom but didn’t even want to be in the house. He Apparated to the manor, showered there, had breakfast there, and spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do. He wasn’t in love with Astoria, not really; he was comfortable.

 _Growth and comfort do not coexist._  

Draco could hear Blaise inside his head, shouting that refrain over and over as he looked through the guestlist for the engagement party. He had grown and learned to love someone that wasn’t Astoria. While the person he woke up with had Hermione’s face, she sure as hell was not the person he fell in love with. 

“Only my closest friends,” he mumbled, scanning through no less than seven hundred names. The manor grounds were enchanted so only the people on that list could enter. They would Apparate outside the gates and walk down the driveway before spreading out into the gardens. 

Lucius Malfoy muttered, “Seven hundred twenty-seven names, my son. The Notts’ celebration hardly hit two hundred and you nearly died.”

“You always know how to put things in perspective, father,” Draco deadpanned.

Lucius dismissed the sarcasm with a wave of his hand. 

“When does the Granger girl plan to move in?” 

“We have not discussed it.”

“When do you plan to have the wedding?”

“We have not discussed it.”

“Does she plan to take our name?”

“We have not—”

Lucius held up a hand to silence his son. He pulled out the chair next to Draco and plopped down, all fifty years suddenly visible across his face. He sighed and said,

“Draco, as your father I need you to be honest with me. Whatever is happening between you and the Granger girl, is it love or is it activism?”

Draco stared harder at the rolls of parchment on the table.

“If it is the latter, there are other ways of getting what you want. Even if this law passes it will not be the end of life as we know it. Your mother and I will still love each other and the same can be said for every soul bond. Do not ruin your life for the sake of a label, my son. It is not worth it.”

Draco scoffed and said, “I suppose you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” his father admitted, “I do.”

Draco turned his gaze back to his father and saw something in those eyes that his true father did not have. This Lucius Malfoy’s regret ran deeper.

“Why have you accepted my love for Hermione?” Draco asked. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” he asked, surprised by the question. He thought about it for a moment then said, “Your mother never told me she spared the Potter boy.”

Draco nodded. Everyone knew as much; it came out in Potter’s testimony at the trial. 

“We fought that evening of the trial. Your mother and I have had disagreements in the past, but never one we could not work through. This was different. You were high as balls I imagine over at the Wiggentree when your mother and I had that argument ...” He trailed off. He made to stand up but Draco pressed him back down by the shoulder and demanded,

“You owe me an explanation.”

Lucius Malfoy took a deep, shuddery breath before he decided to continue.

“If she had just turned him over, if the Dark Lord could have killed him right then we would be living in the world we always wanted. I blamed her for our lot right then. I blamed her for our only son about to be sent to Azkaban. For the Dark Lord’s demise and for causing our world to fall apart. We both said things we did not mean, but she yelled at me the worst ...”

He shook his head and Draco waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He stared down at his hands, unable to look his son in the eyes. 

“She said that I was never as dedicated to her as I was to the Dark Lord. Narcissa said, ‘Your first love has always been Voldemort,’ and ...” He swallowed thickly. “She was right.” Of course that was it. Narcissa was the only person who had the gall to throw Lucius Malfoy’s mistakes back at him. She was likely the only person who could do it and live. 

“I left afterward,” Lucius admitted. “Upon my return, your mother’s things were gone. Her study was empty save for the desk and the flowers in the window. She had taken everything from the shoes in her closet to her shampoo. I walked into this room to see her wedding ring here on my desk. That woman had been part of my life for twenty-five years and I tossed it out like it was rubbish. Narcissa is my _life_ , Draco. I had always put the Dark Lord first and anyone, any prejudice that caused me to hurt your mother is caustic and has no place in this house.”

Draco looked back at the list of party attendees and asked, “Was there anyone you ever thought might be better?”

“Never. I knew she was my soulmate before her name appeared.”

“You would do anything for her ...” Draco trailed off, lost in his thoughts. “Do you ever wonder whether one day she will wake up and realize she is too good for you? Perhaps one day she will wake up regretting every choice that brought you together.”

His father asked, “How could that matter? All I can do is appreciate every day we have together; days I have to earn. I do not know how I convinced your mother to come back other than I promised her our family would always be my priority. You wish to know why I would accept the Granger girl into our home? It is because I owe your mother a proper family, one where our son is happy. One where our son does not need to keep fighting for his place in the world. If you are in love with the Muggle-born girl, then be in love with her. Do not sacrifice your chance at love because you believe everyone else is more important. I nearly did and I never want to feel that empty again.”

**.oOo.**

Draco and Hermione reconciled Friday morning. It was brief, but Hermione apologized and they agreed to continue their engagement charade. But it had never been a charade, not really. From the moment Hermione agreed to be his soulmate, Draco wanted it to be real. He hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he wanted her name on his arm. He wanted to see their life together inked on her skin, too, and he managed to lose it all.

He barged in through the door to Tergeo Tattoos that afternoon. Without looking up from her client’s thigh, Pansy said,

“At least your girlfriend always makes an appointment.”

“I need a friend,” Draco begged. 

“I need twenty minutes.”

Draco sat on the same sofa where he watched Hermione have his name inked on her arm. He glanced at the chair out the corner of his eye and realized she must have sat there to get the dragon tattooed on her arm. Weeks ago Hermione showed up at the shop, handed Pansy his drawing and said, “Ink this.”

Pansy finished tattooing a phoenix, gave the client the aftercare spiel, then sent him on his way. She plopped next to Draco on the sofa and pulled the tie from her hair.

“What did you do?”

Draco told her everything. Confessed his reticence to say “I love you” and his fear of being left behind. By the time he told her about the Hermione switch, he had his head in her lap and she was leaning back against the cushions. 

“You’re one of my best friends,” Pansy said. “Can I ask a question?”

Draco nodded.

“When you look at your life twenty years from now when you are your parents’ age, what do you want your life to look like?”

“I never thought that far ahead.”

“Do it now, then.”

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

“I want CODE to be pointless. I want fairness in everything, I want my friends—”

“Oh fuck all of us,” Pansy huffed. “What do you want _your_ life to look like?”

“I want to have a family. I want to be a better father than mine. I want to keep believing Hermione when she says she loves me, when she asks me to marry her, when she tells me how she feels I want to believe her. I want to watch as she gets elected Supreme Mugwump and fixes the world and, I dunno, I want to wake up next to her every day. I like that.”

“Then you love Hermione. Go be with her!”

“I don’t want this Hermione! I do not want Astoria or anyone else. Hermione— _my_ Hermione is the most powerful, determined person I will ever meet. She focuses so hard that she forgets to breathe and she cannot see clearly. Hermione relies on me to bring that clarity. She needs me more than Astoria ever did and I want to be there for her. I feel valued, you know? I finally got to a point where I believe her when she says she loves me and now she is gone!”

Pansy hummed skeptically and said, “Sort of. She is still here.”

“I would have to learn to love this Hermione all over again.”

“But you could,” Pansy insisted. “You could make it work.”

“That would not be fair to either of us.”

“Or maybe,” Pansy countered, “this is the closest to love either of you will get.”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I didn’t fall in love with part of Hermione, I fell in love with all of her. I would do anything, cross any universe to get back to her. I want this more than I even understand. What if I am stuck here without her?”

“You said the reason you are stuck here is that you are still hung up on Greengrass, yeah?”

“Correct.”

“Bit of a barmy idea, but why don’t you try _not being in love with Astoria Greengrass_?”

Draco groaned and said, “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Figure it out!”

“But I don’t—”

“Look, Draco, if you love Hermione Granger as much as you say you do, then you’ll figure it out. But don’t end your engagement until after the party,” Pansy said. “I’ve been looking forward to cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this twist was a bit of a surprise. Lucius Malfoy is still an arrogant dick, but he does have this one good moment of parenting. One. He only gets one. This will not happen again.


	28. Dragons Die, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastien Nott has to teach Draco what love is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on July 22nd & 23rd, 2006.
> 
> TW: References to past drug use  
> TW: Coarse language

Draco had nightmares for as long as he could remember.

Dementors brought out the worst, darkest things he could think of in third year. Then again, at thirteen the darkest thing he could imagine was drowning in the Black Lake or having his soul sucked out through his mouth. He had no idea what “worse” looked like. He’d wake up sweating, with Blaise at the end of his bed offering up a glass of water. 

Sixth year was horrible, not because he feared for himself, but for his mother if he failed. The Dark Lord was beyond cruel to those who disobeyed him; worse to those who tried and failed. He would kill Narcissa and make Draco watch. The moment he was Marked, life was destined to spiral out of control. Not that he realized as much until later. At first he was proud and felt like a man, like he could do what his father couldn’t. Once the reality of Death Eater life set in, however, he could not get the Dark Lord out of his head. Every night his mind conjured up different ways his mother could die. Aunty Bella taught him Occlumency to try to control the dreams, to keep everything and everyone else out of his head. 

It didn’t work.

The Dark Lord died, but never left. He always got too close, like He forgot what it was like to be human and need space. As though He’d forgotten people needed room to breathe. He touched Draco because it made him uncomfortable and Draco could not shrink away. Those cold fingers would haunt him forever, the way they trailed up and down his arms like spiders. That voice, _Little Malfoy,_  the _pain_ of being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse simply because the Dark Lord was bored.

By the time the Wizengamot tried to throw him into Azkaban, Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He showed up the the trial hungover on the worst days, unbothered. He was sober for Potter’s testimony and wished he wasn’t; neither of them cared to relive it. Firewhisky became Fairy dust became Pixie dust became Angel's Trumpet Draught became Moonseed ... 

And then there was nothing.

There were no nightmares on Friday evening. At least, none in the usual sense. Draco was aware something was happening in his mind, but something was nothing. He floated along, unable to see anything. He could not feel anything in a concrete way, more like the use of his limbs was a question mark, something at the mercy of his mind. There was no struggle, no voices coming out of nowhere and no pain. It was nice, but it wasn’t happy. It was better, but not what he wanted.

**.oOo.**

Tracey opened their door on Saturday evening and said, “We have drama in the house.”

“Of course we have drama, Draco just walked in.”

Theo laughed and Draco playfully whacked his ankle with his walking stick. Theo was dressed in one of his nicer robes to treat Tracey to dinner. If— _when—_ he made it back to Hermione, Draco thought he would treat her to the most ridiculously lavish dinner that was nearly two months overdue. He was happy to give Theo the same opportunity. Draco hugged Tracey and asked,

“What did Scarlett do?”

Tracey shook her head and laughed.

“Sebastien?” Draco asked, shocked.

“He finally moved on from Faithe the Phoenix.”

“Huh.” Draco was not sure how to process that. He had very little time to try, however, as moments later he was accosted by a small child.

“UNCLE DRACO!”

He always heard Scarlett before he saw her. She was careful to only grab onto his good leg. (This time.) 

“Mum says you get married!”

“Yes, Scarlett, I’m getting married.”

She tugged on the leg of his trousers and asked, “Are we going to a party?”

He laughed and said, “Yes, you are coming tomorrow, but no chocolate frogs for you this time.”

She looked more than a little disappointed. Draco looked around, but Theo and Tracey were nowhere to be found. They always enjoyed their time together, and wanted as much of it as they could get. He sighed and asked Scarlett,

“Where is your brother?”

Scarlett scrunched up her face, stuck out her tongue, and said, “Reading. Let’s play!”

So they did. Draco conjured wisps of magic and watched as Scarlett chased the rainbow of sparks around the living room. Normally he would have joined in, but circumstances as they were ...

Scarlett dropped onto the carpet and laid flat on her back. Draco laid down so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. She asked,

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” Draco said, “but not all better.”

“I was scared when you’re in hospital” she admitted. “Were you scared?”

“Very scared.”

“I don’ want you to die.”

“I am going to be your favourite uncle for a very long time,” Draco teased. “You will never get rid of me!”

“Good. I’d miss you too much and dad won’ let me ride brooms yet but you do.”

Scarlett rolled over and squeezed his side in a half-hug. Draco mumbled “ow,” and she stopped to ask,

“Can I see it?”

It only took about two seconds of pouting for Draco to relent. He pulled his shirt up and said,

“Yeah, Scarlett, you can see it.”

Her eyes got really wide and she pressed her hand against the cursed skin on his left side. She put both her hands on the scarring and still failed to cover it. She slowly ran one finger over the raised edges and frowned.

“Mum says we’re not s’posed to hate people, but I hate who did this.”

“I dunno if they had a choice, Scar,” Draco said. He stared at the ceiling so long his eyes burned. “I do not believe he had a choice.”

She asked, “Can I hate him anyway?”

Draco laughed.

“You cannot choose how the world thinks of you, Scar. All you can do is your best for the people you love because their opinions are the only ones that matter.”

“Your ‘pin-yuns matter.” She pointed to the scars on top of his chest and asked, “What are those?” 

“Those are old.”

“‘S that a choice?”

Draco laughed and said, “Yes, that one was a choice. But I had been a bit of a cock and am not sure Potter knew what he was doing.”

Scarlett paused for a moment then asked, “What’s a cock?”

Draco snorted and said, “Ask your father.”

“Okay!”

Theo would murder him for that, but the look on his face would be worth it. Draco and Scarlett played for another hour or so while Sebastien looked at some of his nature books. Draco struggled to keep up with Scarlett like he had before. Once eight-thirty came around, he put each of the twins to bed. As he tucked the blanket in around Sebastien, Draco asked,

“Why do you no longer like Faithe the Phoenix?”

“I like Faithe,” Sebastien said, “but she’s not my favourite anymore.”

“Then who is your favourite?”

Sebastien pointed to a lilac dragon sitting on top of the toy pile. Draco Summoned it and examined the plush toy between his fingers. It had silver spines on its back and looked nothing like any dragon Draco could recall. He frowned and asked,

“Why?”

“‘Cause a Phoenix dies.”

Okay. Draco nodded. Right. Okay.

“Dragons die, too.”

“But a Phoenix dies all the time!” Sebastien insisted. Draco smiled. It was amazing to see such a quiet child so vocally passionate. “You love it, then it gets dusty an’ you start over again. ‘N again ‘n again ‘n again ‘n again ...”

In that moment, Draco realized he owed Hermione a massive apology.

Draco ruffled Sebastien’s hair and said, “You know I love you.”

He yawned and replied, “I love you too, Uncle Draco.”

**.oOo.**

When he got home, Draco found Hermione in the library. He paused in the doorway because as much as she was not his Hermione, she was the same person. She never used the armchairs even though she loved them. She would always begin her work on the rolltop desk but ended up on the floor where she could spread out all the books she needed. So Draco found her just as she usually would have been: cross-legged on the floor surrounded by five open books and parchment obscuring most of the floor.

Hermione looked up at him and said, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She admitted, “I have no idea what I’m doing. Just trying to stay sane, you know? Finding work for myself.”

“It is nice to know you have not changed all that much.”

“You aren’t all that different, either. I suppose your teeth are better. Merlin, when I first began working with you, you’d show up and they would be all sorts of colours. Once, they looked like a rainbow!” 

“That is the Fairy dust,” Draco said, “it turns your teeth different colours depending on the fairy it came from. If it came from multiple fairies you would end up with a rainbow.”

“That is disgusting.”

“I preferred the Pixie dust. You can swallow it, snort it, smoke it ... Very versatile.”

“You never had a real problem with those, though,” Hermione insisted. “It was the Moonseed you kept going back to. You pulled yourself away and at the end of the first month you thought you were going to die. I never knew what to do other than to sit next to you and promise one day it would be okay.”

Draco cringed. He remembered what that was like.

“Withdrawal is one of the worst things I have ever dealt with. I used it to push the rest of the world away, so stopping it meant the entire world came crashing down on me. I cannot really ... I do not know if I have the words ...”

Hermione insisted, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I am surprised I haven’t,” Draco countered. “It was the reality of being me for nearly three years, and for far longer here. I can try to explain ...”

“You are really struggling with it, and I don’t want to watch you try to remember.”

“I remember very vividly, but I am not sure how to explain it so you understand. You know how your body does certain things on its own?”

Hermione nodded.

“You do not have to think for your heart to beat, for you to breathe or to blink. Moonseed makes your entire life just like that. You do not have to think; life goes on as happily as you want it to. Every bad thing is washed away from your consciousness, and then you’re snapped back into the real world once the high wears off. And that is only if you take it properly.”

“Properly?”

“It is a poison on its own. You have to chase it with the right amount of either Wideye or Wiggenweld, which is why people prefer to get high at Millicent’s. If something goes wrong there is always someone there to help.”

“But you didn’t,” Hermione observed. “You told me you were always at a hotel or at home.”

“Once I got really good at taking it, I did not care what happened to me outside of getting high. Getting high was life and everything else was secondary. The Wizengamot tried to send me to Azkaban, but I did not care because I just took more Moonseed. I thought it was a solution until I realized what it was costing me. There were loads of times I was sober for weeks and I hated everything, but it was enough to see what the world was trying to do to my friends. I had to be sober for CODE events but I was always thinking about the next hit. It was not until Theo came and told me he wanted my help with the twins, wanted me to be a fixture in their life, that I realized I was important to someone. I could be important to more than one someone.”

Hermione was quiet for awhile and Draco did not move from his place in the doorway. She finally moved a book and some parchment, then motioned for Draco to sit next to her. He obliged and slowly squatted before just falling onto his ass.

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered. “I keep forgetting.”

“You are not the only one. Hell, I forget sometimes.”

Hermione smiled. 

“You are important to me, and to a lot of people.”

“But Astoria put me first,” Draco said. “She loved me more than anyone else and I have never had that--”

“What about your parents?”

“My father will always love my mother more than he loves me,” Draco answered. “My mother would say she loves the two of us equally. No one ever put me _first_. Astoria did and she always made me feel like I was worth something.”

“But you got off drugs for the twins,” Hermione reasoned, “not for her.”

“She was not enough,” Draco admitted. “I wished to God she would be, but ... We each wanted the other to be the slightest bit different. I was sober nearly five years before I relapsed and she left me because of it. I do not blame her at all; I was not the right fit. Make no mistake, I would kill Weasley in my world if he so much as thought about snogging her. But she deserves someone who will give her what she wants and that is not me.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Draco shook his head and said, “I do not know. But I owe you an apology, Hermione. Sebastien said something to me today that had me ... Well he ...” Draco trailed off.

“Words are usually so easy for you,” Hermione observed. “Is apologizing to me so difficult?”

“Well yes, because it is not you I need to apologize to. However, you are the only Hermione I’ve got so I am going to do it anyway. You need to know that I do not love Astoria the way I love you. My love for Astoria comes and goes. When I doubt myself I run to her for validation, and I cannot do that anymore. It is not fair to her and I need to learn to believe in myself as a person, on my own. You helped me do that.”

“I did?”

“Granted, you were just the opposite at first. We were here maybe four days when you called me useless. Maybe it was worthless. Whatever it was, I heard both. And when are you ever wrong about anything? I thought about going back to Millicent’s after that. I _did_ go back to Millicent’s, but I could not go through with it. Not when you needed me.

“Since we have been here, I have loved learning the sort of person you have become. I see everything about you and love it all. I love that you are not afraid to yell at me, that you are not afraid to go after what you want, and that your ambition can outpace anyone else’s. If anyone can fix the world, it is you, Hermione, and I want to be part of that. I want to spend my life helping you do that because Merlin knows I cannot do it on my own, but _you_ could. I just want to make it easier. I want to love you always, not just when I feel like shit. I am sorry it took me this long to realize what love is and I am sorry it took a four-year-old to explain it to me.”

Hermione rested one hand on his thigh and said, “Thank you. I accept your apology on behalf of myself.”

Draco chuckled and said, “Thanks.”

“Would you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Can I ...” She lowered her voice like she was asking for something indecent. “Can I see it?”

Draco had been in this world long enough to understand what she meant. He offered her his left arm and she didn’t touch it for several seconds. She just stared at it as her eyes glassed over. Hermione bit down on her lip and admitted,

“I wondered what it would look like. I thought perhaps we were soulmates and we would get our names late. I wanted so badly for our love to be taken seriously. That is why we never told anyone we were together. I thought they would laugh at me, judge me for making this choice.”

“They did.”

“But I did not have to live through it. A blessing inside a curse, I suppose.”

“All of my friends were ecstatic, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It does.” Hermione took Draco’s arm and ran the pads of her fingers across the letters. She tilted it back and forth to see it glimmer. “How did you get this?”

“My idea. Pansy owns a tattoo shop and I figured if anyone is mad enough to believe me it would be Pansy.”

“This looks so real that if you hadn’t told me I would have believed it.”

“I chose to put it there, but that does not make our partnership any less valid. It is real, Hermione.”

She leaned forward a bit like she thought about kissing him, but backed off after a moment. 

“It feels wrong. I know you are the same person, but ...”

“I’m not,” Draco finished for her.

“Exactly.”

Things were easier after that. He went to bed that night and did not fall into a nightmare. Dreamless sleeps were always the happiest. Knowing Hermione didn’t hate him, that she missed him, in fact, eased the burden on his soul. As he drifted off, Draco hoped beyond reason that he would wake up in his proper world the next morning.


	29. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Draco isn't an idiot after all.

He didn’t.

Draco woke up to the same mess in the same room in Hermione’s house. He had not expected to leave, not really. There were still problems that needed solving. He woke up and considered going back to sleep, wishing the day away. He was not nervous, but the day would be physically and emotionally taxing. Draco chuckled to himself. What day in his life wasn’t?

He and Hermione circumvented each other throughout the day as they got ready. They left for the manor together around six while the party was scheduled to begin at seven. Draco dressed himself in his bedroom. His robe was a deep red colour, embroidered with constellations that shone as light glanced off them. He surveyed himself approvingly in the mirror before turning to look at the rest of the room. 

Draco had hoped to show Hermione his room while she was here. He thought about discussing his own collection of rare books separate from the manor library. He imagined shagging her on his bed and bathing with her afterward. Anything that would make the space feel more like theirs, feel more like  _ home. _ The longer he was without her presence, the more keenly her absence was felt.

He met Hermione in one of the sitting rooms downstairs. The party music filtered in through the walls as Draco’s heart leapt up into his throat then dropped right into his stomach. Hermione was gorgeous in a low-cut golden dress robe, and Draco had to avert his eyes from her tits. She sighed and asked,

“What’s wrong? They are waiting for us.”

“I thought I would be doing this with her, is all.”

“And I should be doing this with him,” Hermione countered. “But you said you know how to fix this, so you are going to fix it.”

Draco nodded. He took a deep breath and offered his hand. 

“May I?”

“I am sort of looking forward to it,” Hermione said before taking his hand. “Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be?”

“From what you told me, the last time you had a party here at Malfoy Manor it did not end well.”

Draco’s fingers tightened on his walking stick.

“I have learned a great deal since then.”

“Care to share?”

“Not unless I need to.”

Hermione looked like she was about to say something more, but Draco pushed open the door to the garden and escorted her down the steps. The Weird Sisters were playing a live set; hundreds of invitees were gathered in front of the stage while others milled about with hors d'oeuvres and cake. The music faded out once Draco and Hermione set foot in the garden. 

Myron Wagtail pulled the microphone from its stand and pointed toward them. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome tonight’s celebrated couple, Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin First Class, and Draco Malfoy!”

Seven hundred pairs of eyes turned toward them almost simultaneously. The whispers began immediately, as though most of them hadn’t quite believed the words on the invitation.  _ Malfoy and Granger? Together? Engaged? SOULMATES?!  _

Draco leaned down to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “Pretend I am him.”

She looked up and asked, “What?”

Draco pressed his free hand into the small of her back and pulled her flush against him. Hermione immediately understood and pulled him down into a kiss. It was  _ different _ , but not wrong. For a moment they clung to each other like it was the closest they would ever get to love. In that moment it was  _ his  _ Hermione’s lips against his own, it was the Hermione he had grown to love that wrapped her arms around his waist, and Hermione standing on her toes just as she always had because she was dying to get closer. It was slow, curious, chaste kisses as they got lost in it and prayed it was something more than it was. The hushed whispers became wolf-whistles and shouts of “Good on you two!”

Draco pulled back and pressed their foreheads together to say, “I think they will believe us, now.”

“Even I believed us for a second.”

“I would do terrible things to feel it again,” Draco admitted. 

“Don’t,” Hermione insisted. She whispered against his lips, “Just fix us so we get each other back, alright?”

“I promise.”

“And I may not care for you as I care for, well, the other you ... But I love you just as much.”

“I know. We are always a team, Granger.” Draco looked out at their audience and shouted, “What the bloody hell are you lot looking at? ISN’T THIS A PARTY?! DRINKS ALL AROUND!” 

Myron Wagtail laughed and said, “You heard the man! LET’S PARTY!” 

The crowd’s attention shifted as the Weird Sisters played the opening chords of “This Is The Night.” He kissed Hermione’s hand then turned away, looking for a very specific set of people. It was not difficult to find Daphne in the crowd since her husband was one of the few people at the party in Muggle clothing. 

“Congratulations!” Daphne shouted, running toward him. She had her sister’s green eyes and dark hair, and his spirits were lifted immediately upon seeing he had another friend in this world. She grabbed Draco in a tight hug and he half-laughed. “You look so happy!”

“As do you,” Draco replied. He nodded to the man behind her and asked, “Who is this?”

“Yes! Oh, of course. Draco, this is my husband, Kalen Davis. Kalen, this is one of my oldest friends, Draco Malfoy.”

Davis was not much taller than Daphne and at least ten years older, not particularly handsome, but seemed like a nice enough man. His eyes kept darting around like he was trying to take everything in. Draco offered his hand and Kalen shook it once before dropping it.

“Good to meet you.”

“This is weird as hell,” Davis admitted. “Did you know your garden has fairies in it? Actual  _ fairies?! _ ” 

“Awful pests, aren’t they?” Draco asked. He caught sight of the massive diamond on Daphne’s hand before Kalen could respond. “Bloody hell! How did you afford that?”

“Kalen is a Healer!” Daphne answered. “A good one, and his parents are Healers, too.”

“ _ Doctor _ ,” Davis said with a groan. “We’ve been over this, Daphne--”

“You are a doctor?” Draco asked.

“Yes?” Davis answered, uncertain whether it was the answer Draco wished to hear.

“Excellent! I have someone for you to meet.”

He led Daphne and her husband through the crowd, dodging well-wishes and people trying to hug him. Draco whacked more than one of them away with his walking stick. Again, in his Muggle clothes, Knighten was hardly difficult to spot. Neither was Romilda, in a bright orange dress robe that had her fending off more than one interested party. Slay was smiling adorably at Romi while nursing a glass of champagne when Draco arrived with his guests in tow. 

“Draco!” Knighten shouted over the crowd. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Draco said.

“Romilda asked me to come!” he said. “Can you believe it?! She asked me on a date! Though, I must admit this is not what I expected. I have watched about seven people--men and women, mind you--hit on Romilda, I have not gotten cake yet, and I appear to be the only Muggle here.”

“Slay Knighten, this is my friend Daphne,” Draco said, and she waved. “And this is her husband, Dr. Davis.”

“You’re a doctor?” Knighten asked.

“Yes, I practice pediatrics in New York.”

“Oh, thank fuck!” Knighten offered his hand and said, “Great to meet you.”

“And this is Knighten’s date this evening, Romilda Vane,” Draco said. 

She smiled softly at Knighten then shook Davis’s hand. She nodded politely to Daphne and said, “Hello.”

“Knighten is my physical therapist for,” he held up the walking stick, “this. Please, talk about Muggle things,  _ doctor _ things and your gorgeous dates.”

“Speaking of gorgeous dates ...” Draco heard Hermione’s voice and turned to face her. “... I think I win that contest,” she teased.

“I dunno,” Draco countered, “my date is pretty impressive. Saved the world once, I heard.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

They walked around together for a half hour or so, speaking with the important guests. Minister Shacklebolt came and spoke to them for several minutes. They dodged reporters and bobbed their heads in time with whichever Weird Sisters tune was being played. When Draco was not thinking about it, the whole thing was sort of fun.

“MALFOY!” someone shouted for the seventy-fifth time that evening. 

Draco hardly had time to turn around before Riley Willingham was dragging Lila over to Draco’s bench beneath a tree. Riley was out of breath and Lila grinned from ear to ear. Merlin, what he would give for one more moment like that with Hermione. 

“Lila convinced me to go forward with wedding plans because what the hell? Just because the Ministry won’t recognize it doesn’t mean we can’t be married, right?”

“I am not close enough to any god to have authority in this discussion,” Draco quipped. 

“Well, I thought it’d be alright, you know? Because we love each other and we are going to have a family one day, we should get married just like everyone else can. So I went to the bakery, you know the vampire one down in Helga’s Kitchen?”

“Baked and Sired?”

“That’s the one! I wanted to pick out our cake and they are the best at wedding cakes. So imagine my surprise when I tried to put down a deposit and they said the cake was already paid for.”

“How odd,” Draco agreed. 

“Then I got an owl from Blaise Zabini, of all people. Did you know his shop closed?”

“I did.”

“And now he has time to make me a dress for our wedding ...  _ for free. _ ”

“He has enough money to buy Europe,” Draco countered. “Your few dozen Galleons would be nothing to him anyway.”

“Turns out our venue, catering, clothes, invitations, and everything else is already paid for,” Riley said with an accusatory tone. “Who the hell would have thought to have done such a thing?”

Draco stood up from his place on the bench and patted Riley on the shoulder.

“Someone who promised you he would.”

Then he and Hermione made for their next guests, Potter and Weasley. Draco gave them a quick nod in greeting then hobbled away as quickly as he could when he caught sight of Susan Bones. He kissed Hermione on the cheek and whispered, 

“I am off to fix this.”

She squeezed his hand and said, “Good luck.”

Draco came over and surprised Susan with a hug.

“I am so glad you came!” he said. “I knew you were just like the rest of us, unable to resist a good party and better cake.”

“True,” Susan said with a chuckle. She squeezed him tight once more before stepping out of their hug. “So ... You and Granger are truly together?”

“We are having some struggles right now,” Draco admitted.

“I understand the weight of it all. Sometimes you can be so distant that it feels like you are in different universes even when you are right next to each other. The pressure to love someone the way magic says you need to love them. Hold onto her, Draco, because one day you could wake up and she won’t be there. Trust me when I say you do not wish to know that feeling.”

Draco nodded.

“You are more right than you can ever hope to know.”

“You were wrong, by the way. I didn’t need to see this. I would never let this bill pass. I know better than most how precious love is; how temporary and fragile it can be. No marriage ban will be codified in law as long as I am Chief Sorceress, I promise.”

“Delighted as I am to hear that, there is one more discussion we need to have.” Draco made for Rowan Khanna and said, “Just the man I need to see!”

He was dressed in plain grey robes, simple, and easy to blend in. Rowan was trying to hide, and Draco knew why.

“Rowan?” Susan asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I invited him.” Draco smiled. People gave them a wide berth, rightly figuring serious politics were about to take place. “Just one more guest ...” Draco scanned the crowd and found his target. He concentrated on his magic and pushed it toward his palms just as Hermione taught him.

_ Accio! _

A wand flew right into Draco’s waiting fingers. He shoved it into the pocket of his robe and shouted,

“Septimus!”

Mr. Greengrass immediately looked over, disappointed when he saw the face that accompanied the voice. Draco beckoned him over and he obliged, immediately suspicious.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Mr. Greengrass snapped. “Why am I here?”

“You are here because Rowan and I are going to chat.”

Mr. Greengrass expression fell. He nervously glanced at Susan then toward Rowan.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I think you know.”

Mr. Greengrass reached into his pocket for his wand, but found empty fabric in its place. He closed his eyes for a moment before demanding,

“Give me my wand, you little brat!”

“So you can try to kill me again?” Draco asked. “That worked so beautifully before.”

Mr. Greengrass quipped, “I learn from my mistakes.”

“So you would kill me with more witnesses?” Draco asked. “In front of your daughters, no less?”

Mr. Greengrass lowered his voice to ask, “Daphne is here?”

Susan turned around and said, “I’ll just be taking my leave then.”

Draco tapped her on the shoulder and said, “No, you will not. See Rowan is going to answer some questions for me. Unless the two of you wish to start a row in the middle of my engagement party, you will stand here and look like this is a normal chat.”

Mr. Greengrass asked, “If I refuse?”

Draco put on his “Lucius face” and watched the colour leave Mr. Greengrass’s cheeks.

“If you walk away from me right now you will never see your wand again.”

“I can get another.”

“Quite right, Septimus. And I could never kill you; my love for Astoria and your wife would prevent that. My fiancee, however, holds no such compunctions and her vengeance is far more painful than mine. So you are going to stand here and listen. But first, Septimus, you are going to look at Rowan and tell him to speak the truth.”

“No.”

Draco could not keep the rage out of his voice as he said, “Do not test me.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Draco pulled Mr. Greengrass’s wand from his pocket and tossed it on the ground. Draco pressed the butt of his cane into the centre until he heard the wood snap. It pierced the heavy silence and Draco glanced up to see Mr. Greengrass wince. He looked down at the wood splintering around the wandcore and felt nothing. Mr. Greengrass let out a shaky breath and reached the slightest bit toward his broken wand. Draco had essentially castrated him in front of the Chief Sorceress.

“Command Rowan to tell the truth.”

He did not move.

“I swear on Merlin’s grave, if you do not command him to speak the truth in the next ten seconds, I will tell Hermione that you tried to have me killed. She will part your balls from your cock before you can even think to Disapparate.  _ Tell. Him. Now. _ ”

Mr. Greengrass reluctantly turned to Rowan and said, “Tell the truth.”

“Right then,” Draco said as he turned to face Rowan Khanna, whose eyes had glazed over. “You have simple instructions, Rowan. I will ask a question and you are to answer with either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I am making inferences here, so answer no if I get anything wrong. Anything at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Did Susan Bones place you on the Legislative Committee?”

“Yes.”

“Does Susan Bones know you do not have a soulmate?”

“Yes.”

“Did Susan Bones put you on the committee because she could blackmail you into voting how she wished?”

“Yes.”

Draco turned to face Susan and said, “You always knew how to play the game. I used to like that about you.”

“It was wrong of me,” she admitted. “But I never hurt him, and I would never hurt you, Draco. You know that.”

“Do I?” he asked. He turned again to Rowan and said, “You told Hermione you would vote no on the bill, and then voted yes. Did Susan blackmail you into it?”

Rowan shook his head firmly and said, “No.”

“I tried,” Susan said. “He was willing to risk everything to kill the ban.”

“And  _ that _ must be where you came in, right Septimus?” Draco asked. 

He nodded.

“Rowan, I feel as though this is a bit of a nonsense question, but did Septimus Greengrass place you under an Imperius Curse?”

“Yes.”

“You wished the ban to progress so badly that you forced Rowan to vote yes in the only way you knew how,” Draco realized. “The moment you realized Hermione and I were together, you recognized the ban was in true jeopardy. That is when you decided to have me killed.”

Mr. Greengrass choked out, “You were in my way.”

“I knew it had to be you, because who else would know to give him that curse? Why would you choose to ruin our lives like this?”

“Because my wife is dying!” he snapped back. “She has weeks left, at most.”

“We agree that is a loss for all of us, and the world, really. She deserved a better life and a better end to it. What do her circumstances have to do with any of us?” 

“She is the only family I have! My girls abandoned me and I thought if their marriages were annulled then they would return. At least Astoria would; I could get her to come home and leave that blood traitor behind.”

“Your daughters never left you,” Draco said. “You abandoned them! You isolated yourself in your prejudice and have no one to blame but yourself.”

“What of you?” Mr. Greengrass half-shouted. “If you had been good enough to be Astoria’s soulmate we would not be dealing with this problem!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Draco asked. He laughed sardonically, wondering how the hell his life had become so insane. “You are telling me at  _ my engagement party _ that you wish I had been your daughter’s soulmate? Your daughter is perfectly happy where she is! Being a good mum and being a great person! Astoria has always deserved more than what you gave her. Hell, she deserved more than I could give her.”

Mr. Greengrass glared at Rowan Khanna and said, “My only regret is that this incompetent bastard did not kill you when he had the chance.”

“So it was Rowan? I figured as much. You snuck him into the manor as one of your guests and he hid out until the moment I slipped away.”

“Yes,” Rowan answered. 

“Oh! Apologies, Khanna, I forgot you were here. Remove the curse, Septimus.”

Mr. Greengrass made no move to do so.

“NOW!” Draco shouted. When Septimus remained still, Draco asked, “Do you still believe me to be filled with meaningless threats?”

Mr. Greengrass waved his hand and Rowan Khanna fell to his knees, gasping for air. His fingers curled onto the ground until his hands were balled into fists, like he was adjusting to being alone in his body. His breaths evened out after a minute or so.

“Good God!” he whispered. “So sorry, Malfoy,” he looked up at Draco. “I am so goddamn sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I tried to tell you at his house, at the Ministry, I never wanted any of this.”

“I know,” Draco said. He offered Rowan his hand and Rowan stared at it for a bit. Eventually he took Draco’s hand and allowed himself to be helped up. “I know exactly how it feels to be a pawn in a game that is far bigger than you.”

“May I leave now?” he asked. “I just ...” He looked at Susan and Mr. Greengrass before crossing his arms around himself. He was afraid. “I would like to go home.”

Draco reminded him that, “You do not have to ask permission anymore.”

Rowan Khanna nodded and said, “Right.”

“But before you go, take one of the complementary books from the shelves at the exit. It is called  _ Partnership: The History of Soulmates _ by Romilda Vane. Forward by my fiancee.”

“What?!” Susan asked. “How the hell did you get a copy of that book?”

“I know the author,” Draco answered. “CODE already has a publishing operation. I expanded it a bit. Seven hundred copies available today and it should be at Flourish and Blott’s tomorrow. I believe Romi is giving an interview to  _ Spella Weekly _ .”

“What are you on about?” Susan asked, her voice trembling.

“Rowan, here, will no longer live in fear. Neither will Romilda or any other person without a soulmate. You said it yourself, Susan. Love is a temporary, fragile thing that not even magic can fully define. Your propaganda is dead.”

“You are unbelievable,” Susan said.

Draco laughed and said, “You both should have killed me when you had the chance. Now, I am going to get some cake. Septimus, please tell your wife that I have found love and I will do anything in my power to keep it. That should give her some peace, at least.”

Susan grabbed him by the arm as he walked past.

“For the record, I think you did the right thing and I am sorry.”

“Then make it right, Susan,” Draco insisted. “You have the power to do that, so do it.”

He walked away toward the cake, right into a group of his closest friends. Pansy hugged him first, followed by Blaise and Bastien, who gave way to Theo.

“Scarlett asked me the funniest thing the other day ...”

**.oOo.**

Draco and Hermione were lying on top of the covers, robes discarded on the floor. Hermione’s hair was falling out of its pins and Draco only had on one sock. They recalled some moments from the party and Draco avoided any mention of Septimus Greengrass or Susan. 

“Hell of a party,” he said.

Hermione rested her head on her elbow and said, “It wasn’t a bad kiss.”

“No,” Draco agreed, “it wasn’t.”

“But the strangest thing is, I don’t want to do it again.”

“Me either.”

“I miss my Draco so much,” Hermione said. “We went through things together that you don’t know. We worked through so much and we learned to love each other without being afraid.”

“I was never afraid to love Hermione.” He paused to consider the truth of that statement. “I was afraid to tell her, though. I felt so useless next to her until she made me realize I was more than I made myself out to be. I had to stop comparing myself to her and focus on being there for her.”

“You said I called you useless?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, shrinking away from the memory.

“I am sorry about that. It was a lie.”

“I know it was. You said it to make me feel as terrible as you felt in that moment, but you didn’t realize I already considered myself worthless without Astoria.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“No,” Draco said. “Not anymore. I know who I am and what I want.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want her back.”

Hermione nudged his ankle with her toes.

“Then I hope we both get what we want.”

“It all hinges on me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

Draco admitted, “I miss her more with each day. I never realized how big a part of my life she had become until she was no longer here. I regret not telling her I loved her earlier. I should have told her every fucking day after I figured it out.”

“You probably should have,” Hermione agreed. “But you and I both know you cannot live in the past. You have to move forward.”

“I do not believe there is any moving on from her. I would give anything, cross any universe just to have her in my arms one more time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see that coming?


	30. You Chose Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all should know I am a sucker for a happy ending.

Hermione was not there when Draco woke up the next morning.

Neither was his walking stick. 

Draco blinked a few times before sitting up in his bed. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and held out his hand to Summon the walking stick. Ten seconds later, it still had not returned to his grasp. Instead, there was a loud thunking against the door.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

Draco threw off the covers and hopped over to the door on his right leg. He fell forward onto the door and held onto the knob for balance. A moment later he flung it open to see his walking stick there, waiting for him. He grabbed it from midair and hobbled over to the bathroom.

He wondered where Hermione had gone off to. He could not blame her for going back home, if that was the case. Waking up in Malfoy Manor must have been quite the shock. It would take a long time before the manor would feel like home for her, the same way the house in Hampstead had come to feel like home to Draco. He brushed his teeth and soaked in the tub until he was well past pruned.

Sometime while he was getting dressed, it occurred to Draco that he would have to end the engagement. He could not marry this Hermione. No matter how badly he wanted her to be the same, she was not the woman he fell in love with. Was there a proper way to spin it? He supposed it would be more palatable if Hermione was the one to do it. No one would blame her for dumping him.

He made his way downstairs for breakfast, roused from his room by the smell of bacon. Draco found his parents sitting toward the head of the dining room table. He hobbled over and swiped a glass of orange juice. He downed it in one go then used his arm to wipe his mouth. His father raised an eyebrow at the gesture then went back to his reading.

“I see you got a tattoo to match the Granger girl’s,” Lucius said. He whipped the paper out and sighed. “At least you make your poor decisions together, I suppose.”

Draco looked down at his father’s left arm and had never, ever been so happy to see the Dark Mark. He looked at his mother’s arm where Lucius’s name should have been, and found bare skin.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled. Draco scrambled out of his chair and made for the door. “Oh my God, I’m home!”

“Yes, my son, you are home.”

Draco realized, “I have to go.” He turned and half-jogged toward the doorway.

His mother called out, “Draco, you did not touch your breakfast!”

“Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I need to see my fiancée!”

His parents simultaneously shouted after him, “FIANCÉE?!”

He Apparated to Hermione’s house in Hampstead, because she had to be there, right? Where else could she be? He reasoned she could be in any of a dozen places. She might be in her office, because she could still practice law. Perhaps the G8 3/4 sent her off on a delegation somewhere. Maybe she was having lunch with Potter, as friends do. But she _had_ to be there. 

Draco knocked on the door but no one answered. He put more of his weight on the walking stick and knocked a bit harder, only to be met by the same silence. He twisted the doorknob and the door swung open for him. A good sign that at least the wards allowed him entry.

He shouted, “Hermione?!” as he hobbled his way down the hall toward her library.

“Go away!” she shouted back.

Draco stopped in his tracks. What the hell? He hobbled slowly toward her voice but his confidence ebbed with each step. It didn’t feel real. The difference between his realities was so thin that this could all be nothing more than an elaborate dream. Was he high again?

Time stopped, hell, the whole world stopped when he saw Hermione curled up in one of the chairs. She shifted a little bit and turned to look out the window.

“I told you I wanted to be alone today.”

“Did you?” Draco asked. Time moved slowly, like he was travelling through butter that had just begun to melt. But he walked forward anyway as his walking stick made dull thunks against the wood floor. He saw Hermione’s shoulders tense up when she realized what was making the sound. Draco paused halfway and said, “Astoria Greengrape.”

Hermione turned to look up at him, then down at the walking stick. Her gaze fell to his forearm and she shook her head. 

“I hate this,” she said. “Not knowing what is real and what isn’t. Seeing you and then _seeing you_ . I feel like if I touch you this could all fall apart. It has only been four days, but it has been _four days_.”

Draco lowered his voice so it was practically a whisper and asked, “May I see it?”

Hermione stood up and refused to meet his gaze. Draco stepped back just to look at her. She wore her stupid Gryffindor t-shirt and black trackies Draco hadn’t seen before. She looked exactly as Draco knew he did; halfway between bliss and believing this was nothing more than another dream. She wrapped her arms around her middle like she was trying to squeeze out every last drop of hope she had that it was real. That _he_ was real.   

“Is it truly you?” she asked.

“Yes, _love_ , it is me.”

Hermione looked up at him then and offered her left arm. Draco noticed the water pooling in the corners of her eyes, but dropped his gaze because he needed to see his name. It was the beginning of it all, those five letters forever inked in black and purple for the world to see. He absentmindedly ran his thumb over the sword, relieved to know that it would always be there.

“I apologized,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. He kept running his fingers overtop of his name on Hermione’s arm. “I told the other you all the things I should have said while we were together.”

“Tell me again.”

“Mostly how sorry I am for not trusting you when you said you loved me.”

Hermione swallowed thickly and admitted, “That hurt more than you know.”

“I know exactly how much,” Draco countered. “My love for Astoria will always be with me, you know. She gave me reason to believe I could be a better man. Every time I faltered or thought I was not enough to lead CODE or to be a good godfather to the twins, I thought, ‘But Astoria believes in me, so I should believe in me, too.’ I will always appreciate that, but I realized that is not love.”

Draco dropped her arm and gently rolled up the left sleeve of her t-shirt. Seeing the dragon there grounded him in reality. It hadn’t been a dream; Hermione was not a dream. She was there, in his arms again. He traced the outline of each pansy as he said,

“It was never right for me to base my faith in myself on the words of someone else. Being stuck with you in that God-forsaken world changed everything, because when you called me worthless I internalized it. I headed back to the only place that ever quelled the doubt and I wanted the Moonseed so badly. Then I thought of you. You wanted my help and I wanted to give it to you. In that moment I realized I had the strength to say no, and that I could do it on my own. I did not need Astoria hovering over my shoulder to remind me not to poison myself.”

He moved his hand up from her shoulder to cup her cheek. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch. 

“Once I realized I had value, I wanted to use it for you. Not because I owe you anything, but because I love you. I learned so much about who you are and which parts of you will never change. I will gladly wake up in the middle of the night with you hair in my mouth every evening for the rest of my life if it means I get to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

“The other you was just the same, you know, so good with words. There were moments I thought you would never return. How could you? You were so wrapped up in Astoria Greengrass that nothing I could do would pull you away.”

“The whole time, Hermione, the whole time we said ‘I go as you go,’ right? That means you came back, so I had to come back.”

“But—”

“You left, Hermione. You got to come home because you let go of Weasley and _you chose me_. You put me first and you wanted a future together.”

“I still want that,” Hermione whispered. “More than anything.”

She kissed Draco but it was nothing more than a whisper. The moment could break into a thousand tiny fragments and force them apart again. But then she pulled Draco down by his shirt collar and pressed her lips more firmly against his. Hermione was uncharacteristically gentle as she deepened the kiss and her thumbs stroked over his cheekbones. 

Draco felt like he was floating. Hermione was not holding him like he was fragile, but like their moments together were precious. Her hands were soft but he had waited so long to feel this again that he was overwhelmed by it. Draco wanted to pull Hermione down on top of him like she had been all those days ago; wanted to snog her and feel her grind against him until they were sweaty and coming in their trousers.

“Marry me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

“I don’t have a ring—”

“I don’t care. Today, tomorrow, whenever you want to, I’ll be there.”

Draco chuckled and pulled her into a fierce kiss before pulling back to say, “God, I love you so much.”

“Backatcha, _babe._ ”

“I do not know where to go from here,” he admitted. “I want to shag you, have breakfast, go pick out a ring, get married, fall asleep with you, wake up with you, have breakfast, shag you again, have lunch, bathe together ...”

"I understand completely. It feels like four years, not four days." Hermione confessed, "I can hardly believe you are here right now. When I woke up without you here, I thought that curse would be the end of us."

"All I can say is that living without you would ruin me more than any curse ever could."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking through to the end! I hope this was a satisfactory ending for you. I did write an epilogue for Blaise/Dean because I love them, but it didn't really fit. Sometimes I have trouble remembering not every story is a Bean story. (Though, really, shouldn't it be?) I have a couple fest pieces in the works, and potentially a John Wick AU for Dramione. You can follow me on Tumblr @littlesixxwrites.


	31. Epilogue: I Think I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late April/Early May 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! A Blaise/Dean epilogue.

Blaise stood, arms crossed, and watched Draco lace up his trainers.

“I don’t understand why you need a chaperone.”

“Because Knighten does not believe I can get up on my own if I fall.” Draco grimaced and admitted, “He is right.”

Blaise took the walking stick from its perch by the door. He opened the front door and watched Draco walk through. His heart ached to see the look of determination on his friend’s face when it came to the three stairs leading down to street level. Draco held onto the railing for dear life, and took a slow step down before bringing his other foot down to match it. He paused as though that was enough for the day and he could give up already. 

But he didn’t.

Draco stepped down, and down again, as slowly as he needed to. Blaise locked the door and followed quickly. He fell into step at Draco’s side and slowed his pace, since Draco moved with all the speed of a turtle who had been swimming in Firewhisky. After a few moments of silence, Blaise admitted,

“I am still not sure I believe your story.”

Draco shrugged and glanced at the cane in Blaise’s grasp.

“Half the time I was there, I did not believe it myself.”

“Soulmates,” Blaise mused. “If only it was that easy, finding the one person you are meant to be with as soon as their name appears on your arm. The one person in the world who can make you happier than all the others.”

“It only took a centuries-old curse and a couple close brushes with death for me to find mine,” Draco quipped. “If there is one thing I learned from that God-forsaken place, it is that soulmates do more harm than good.”

“Do they really?” Blaise asked. 

They walked along the street in Hampstead, planning to meet Hermione for lunch. Blaise kept a close watch on Draco, who hadn’t been for a walk longer than ten minutes without his cane. It was a potentially momentous day since this walk would be double that time if they made it. 

“Not everyone has a soulmate.”

Blaise paused for a beat then asked, “Did I?”

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he said,

“Hermione and I accomplished what we needed to do. There was, however, one thing that our doubles failed to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you ever seen two people you know should be together?” Draco asked. “Something in you just knows, and once you see them together you wonder how they ever moved through life apart?”

“You and Granger would be the closest I know to that description.”

“Right, right, well ... That world was a fucked-up mess, but it did get one thing right. Something Hermione and I should have gotten ahead of a long time ago.”

“Well, we all knew there was something wrong with you during those months you were gone. Merlin’s arse, it was like you never stopped doing the drugs. I had forgotten just how alone you were, how desperate and disgusting and--”

“Enough of that, yeah?” Draco snapped.

“I mean to say he lived like that and never found any incentive to stop.”

“He found Hermione.”

“Right, but you didn’t need her. To me, that shows how brave you are. How important it was for all of us that you overcame your self-doubt and that need for the Angel’s Trumpet and the Moonseed ... Because we need you. And those couple months with the other you were strange because it felt like I was missing my best friend.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and went very still. Blaise turned to face him just as Draco pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Thanks for saying that.”

Blaise returned the embrace and said, “Of course, Draco. Your friendship means everything to me, you know that.” He held Draco tight around the shoulders, still wary of that massive scar on his waist.

Draco broke away to continue his walk and said, “Perhaps you will find someone who can give you something more.”

Blaise gave him a wan smile and admitted, “Never met a man worthy of giving it a go.”

“What would you look for, then?”

“Someone taller than me.”

Draco laughed and said, “That is not a real qualification, is it? Tell me what you think your soulmate would be like.”

Blaise thought about it for a full minute. 

“I dunno,” he revealed. “I truly have never given it any thought. I suppose I would want someone who does not judge me for my past, or my mother’s, for that matter. All the men I have tried to date have been utter cocks, so I’d like someone nice.”

“Nice?”

“Kind-hearted, you know, nice eyes, has the sort of smile that makes other people smile.”

“Anything else?”

“A good kisser.”

Draco chuckled.

“You laugh, but you would be surprised how many blokes go right in with their tongue, sort of floating around in my mouth like a Dementor trying to suck out my soul.”

“Hah! Good luck finding it.” Draco said, laughing even harder. “So you want someone who is tall and good at snogging who isn’t an utter cock.”

Blaise nodded and Draco hung his head a bit.

“Your list is pathetic.”

“You try finding someone to meet the bare minimum then send him my way, how about that?” Blaise snapped. 

Draco looked over at him with a mischievous grin and said, “Yes. How about that?”

Blaise groaned and asked, “Why do I get there is more to this than you’re letting on?”

“I couldn’t possibly know what you mean,” Draco replied with faux innocence. 

“You seem to be doing well so far, fifteen minutes in.”

Draco’s expression fell and he grit his teeth together.

“It is taking everything I have to keep moving forward. And if we stop I don’t know if I will be able to keep going, but I have to, Blaise. I have to do this, I have to make progress, I have to--”

“I know you do not want to progress backward, but you cannot hurt yourself in the process.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You and my therapist would be great friends.”

“Is he good at snogging?” Blaise teased.

“Straight, I’m afraid.”

“Damn, and here I thought I might have someone who would understand when I bitch about you.”

“If that is what you want, then Hermione’s the one you should talk to.”

“When does he believe you will be able to run again?” Blaise asked, changing the subject.

“A few more months, if things keep going well,” Draco answered. “So you understand, I need this to keep going well.”

“The incident happened nearly a year ago, didn’t it?” 

Draco confirmed, “Ten months or so, yes.”

“When did you stop using the cane full-time?”

“Four months ago, and I have been grateful for each day since. Bloody hell, I hate that thing.”

“I do not know whether you understand how amazing that is.”

“Amazing?” Draco asked, not bothering to conceal his displeasure. “Walking, Blaise. I have trouble walking! Something I used to consider second nature and now ... Now I can hardly make it from Hermione’s house to the cafe, let alone go on a run.”

“You should be dead,” Blaise pointed out. “You survived a curse called The Slow Death, so you should consider yourself fortunate to be alive at all. How many of your ribs did it eat, again?”

Draco mumbled, “Three.”

“Right, then there was the blood loss, the muscle death, the--”

“Yes, yes, I get it!” Draco shouted. “I understand I should be grateful, but ... I’m not.”

“You feel entitled to more than this?”

“Yes, alright! Yes, I am entitled to more than this.”

Blaise opened the door to the cafe and said, “Work for it, then. And unlike the last time you needed us, we will all be here to support you.”

Draco looked down at the single step he needed to take to get into the cafe. He set his shoulders and placed his right foot on the step before pressing off the ground with his left toes. He stutter-stepped for a moment before regaining his balance. Draco took three steps then collapsed into a chair. 

“Made it.”

Blaise smiled and said, “I never doubted you.” He took the chair next to Draco and asked, “When can we expect to see your wife?”

“Whenever she gets out of her meeting, I suppose.” He shifted in his seat so he was sitting more than slouching. “One of her friends is in town and I think he may be joining us for lunch.”

“Wonderful,” Blaise deadpanned.

“Do you think it was strange to get married so soon?” Draco asked. “Theo lectured me about how these things need time, Pansy threw a jar of ink at me when I told her, but you never said much of anything.”

Blaise shook his head. 

“Not much to say. I like to think if you meet someone and you know, then you know.”

“Is that so?” Draco said. He looked over to the door and Blaise followed suit to see Hermione Granger walk in. 

Blaise stood up to give her a brief hug once she made her way over to the table. Hermione bent down to give Draco a quick kiss before gesturing to the man she brought with her. Blaise turned to look over at her guest and his heart stopped. 

He couldn’t help but slip back into habit and say, “Hermione, Draco never mentioned you were bringing a friend.”

“I literally just said--”

Blaise kicked one leg of his chair and shot him a quick,  _ Shut the fuck up right now _ , glare before returning his attention to the tall slice of Heaven standing in front of him. 

Their guest offered his hand and introduced himself as, “Dean Thomas.”

“Blaise Zabini,” he answered. He held onto Dean’s hand for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary and said, “I remember you from school.”

“God, how could you?” Dean said with a laugh. He dropped his hold on Blaise’s hand and asked, “How could you possibly see me through all the smoke? The pitfalls of being Seamus’s class partner for six years.”

“Please,” Hermione scoffed as she sat in her chair. “The only reason he blew things up in sixth year was to give you cover so you wouldn’t get caught snogging in class.”

Dean shrugged.

“Guilty.”

Blaise couldn’t hide his grin. He leaned over to whisper in Draco’s ear.

“Bastard.”

Draco smiled and said in hushed tones, “Just be happy you did not have time to put money on my meeting the minimum.”

Blaise returned his attention to Dean Thomas, who was still in deep conversation with Granger. He found himself grinning as he surveyed Dean. He was in a well-worn jumper and jeans, and so thin Blaise thought he might break in half if the wind hit him just right. He was nearly half-a-head taller than Blaise, but those eyes ... Dean Thomas had seen too much and been through too much. Yet, his smile seemed to reach his eyes. 

They ordered lunch and Blaise could hardly pry his eyes away to look at a menu. 

Dean focused on Hermione, discussing the more mundane things about something Blaise didn’t bother listening to. Draco kept raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Dean as if to say,  _ I knew you would like him  _ and  _ Didn’t I do a good job? _ But Dean Thomas didn’t seem to be inclined to speak to Blaise at all.

Then a waiter came over to the table and handed Draco a small piece of parchment. Conversation stopped as Draco unfolded it and read the few lines, his brow furrowed in concentration. He glanced up at Hermione, who nodded, then said,

“Father needs me at the manor for a meeting about the estate. Tax dispute or something; you know the Ministry is always sticking their bloody noses where it does not need to be.”

Draco reached for the cane and Blaise handed it over, immediately suspicious. 

“Right, well, I, um ...” Hermione said as she stood up from her chair. “Do you want to use the Floo in my office?”

Draco shot a quick glance at Dean, then looked over at Blaise, then returned his focus to Hermione.

“Yes. Care to escort me?”

“Love to,” Hermione replied. The two of them couldn’t get around fast enough and were out the door before Dean could process what happened. 

Blaise took a deep breath then exhaled very, very slowly. Dean Thomas laughed.

“Well they have all the subtlety of a dungbomb.”

“I should have known,” Blaise teased, “Draco hates when I chaperone so there had to be a reason he asked for me today.”

Dean smiled down at the table and said, “Part of me is glad he did.” His cheeks went pink and he took another long sip of water. “But the other part wants to run out the door.”

Blaise’s heart sank all the way down to his toes.

“Oh.”

“Seamus and I were together off-and-on for about eight years.” He popped a couple of chips into his mouth. Dean revealed, “We finally separated for good a couple months ago, and since then my friends have tried to set me up with all the gay men they know. Hermione was a bit more creative about it, but still ...”

This was not going anywhere near where Blaise wanted it to. He straightened up in his chair and picked at his food for a moment. He tossed some chips around and nervously tapped the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“You can go, if you like,” Blaise said, praying his disappointment didn’t seep through. “I wasn’t exactly prepared to be on a date, I was expecting to spend the meal ignoring the way Draco and Hermione eye-fuck each other across the table.”

“Yes, well ...”

“Why are you trying so hard not to like me?”

“Because I don’t want to do this!” Dean admitted, exasperated. “Look, Zabini--”

“Blaise, please.”

“Blaise, then. I am tired of having people thrown at me like we are magnets and my friends hope this time we stick together. I hate this endless carousel of men and the reason Hermione had to sneak you in is because I stopped accepting blind dates weeks ago. I don’t want to do this.”

“I am not keeping you here,” Blaise insisted, “but your ass is still in the chair.”

Dean squirmed a bit and glanced toward the door. He pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward onto the table.

“The past few weeks I’ve become quite good at rejecting people and not feeling bad about it. With Seamus, I never knew if it was right; if  _ we  _ were right. Eight years on, we finally figured out that we weren’t. So I know what wrong feels like, and you definitely don’t feel wrong.”

Blaise felt his cheeks warm up. He smiled but Dean continued before he could say anything.

“I don’t know what to do with that. All I know is that even looking at the door right now feels like a mistake.”

“You flatter me.”

Dean shook his head and said, “No.”

Blaise grinned even wider and said, “Tell me, then, what was it about Seamus Finnegan that made it wrong?”

Dean shrugged.

“I think neither of us knew what we wanted. We always wanted each other, before we even knew what it meant. That was never enough, though. I grew up a bit, figured out that I need someone in my life who ... God, I dunno. I can’t put words to it.”

Blaise asked, “May I give it a go?”

“Sure.”

“On the way here, Draco asked what I would look for in a soulmate. I told him I’d want someone taller than me, someone who’s good at snogging, and someone nice. I can tell right now you have at least two of those three so make no mistake, I don’t want to see you walk out the door without me. But I did not tell him the one thing I know I need.”

“What would that be?”

“I saw what my mother did to men,” Blaise answered. “She weaponized love and sex to get money, and my entire life I have been terrified someone would do that to me. Before Theo got married, I never saw anyone be successful in love. Bastien and Padma love each other dearly and I cannot even begin to describe what Draco has with Granger.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“The reason I haven’t been in love before,” Blaise said, “is that I never found someone I can trust not to hurt me.”

Dean asked, “Do you think that person is me?”

“Is it bad that I want it to be?” 

“No,” Dean answered. “Because I think that when you meet someone, you should know.”

Blaise smiled. Dean rested his chin on one hand and kept smiling back at Blaise, who was increasingly besotted. Lines fanned out from the corners of Dean’s eyes and his nose scrunched up a bit in the middle. 

“God, you’re cute.”

Dean chuckled.

“Now who’s flattering whom?”

Blaise took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to go on a real date with me?”

“Any time.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Great.”

Blaise’s grin widened as he pulled out a few Galleons to pay for the meal. He tossed them on the table and stood up to walk out the door with Dean right behind him. Blaise didn’t know what to do, so he walked back toward Hermione’s house where he guessed Draco would likely be waiting. Nosey bastard.

“Zabini?”

He turned around and said, “I told you to call me--”

Next thing he knew, Dean had one hand on his shoulder and the other rested against Blaise’s neck, thumb brushing against his jaw. There was a brief moment where Blaise could have pulled back but his eyes fluttered closed as Dean kissed him. Simple, closed-mouth, and quick. He pulled away and pressed their foreheads together as Blaise tugged at the hem of his jumper, trying to pull him closer. Dean smiled and kissed him again, gently, just letting their lips linger ...

“All three, Blaise,” Dean whispered, breath warm against his mouth. “I have all three.”

Blaise moved to snog him again, but Dean pulled away with a teasing grin. He took a step backward and said,

“Owl me the details.”

He turned his back and headed toward Hermione’s office. Blaise pressed the pads of his fingers against his lips and began the walk back to Hermione’s house. His feet carried him all the way there, but his head seemed stuck somewhere in the clouds. He knocked on the door and Draco opened it like he’d been waiting on the other side.

“How was it?” he asked.

Blaise smiled and said, “I think I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, for real this time. Draco and Hermione are happily married and Draco's eventually gonna run again because y'all know I am a sucker for a happy ending.


End file.
